Vigilante
by Shellster
Summary: A vigilante walks the streets of New York City, taking the law into her hands and exacting her revenge on those who killed her family and destroyed her. Can the detectives of SVU stop her before she finishes her reign of murder and revenge? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't not own the following characters; Elliot Stabler, Donald Cragen, John Munch, Fin Tutola, Olivia Benson, George Huang, Melinda Warner, Casey Novak, Maureen Stabler, Dickie Stabler or Kathy Stabler. I have no rights to any of them; they belong to Dick Wolf and company.

I do own the 124 abstract characters and plot line, and a few products an band created from my little mind: Bastards from Hell, Rattler Malt Liquor, Hart's Cigarettes, Kilroy's Apple Brandy, Eugene's Mint Gum, Yuricks Chainsaw model 411 and Thatch Computers.

A/N: I am dyslexic. I've tried to find all the errors in this, but I know I've missed some. So please be nice. This is my first, so again please be nice.

The point of view is going to change a lot, not only will it be from our awesome detectives, but will also be from supporting characters that I've created. You will also be able to hear their thoughts, they will be in italics.

To the core the story will remain in third person, with some narration, you will be able to tell the difference. (I hope I'm clear in that aspect)

Italics: mean thoughts, an emphasized point, a sarcastic point, innuendo, past conversations, or audio dialogue.

Underlining: Means emphasized point also.

Also: You as the reader are sometimes going to know things way before the characters do and some of the characters are going to know things way before you do. I'll be dropping lots of hints to you about things.

Reason for M rating: Violence, language (lots of it), adult situations and themes, including a description of rape, a description of torture, graphic descriptions of murder scenes, mutilation and some other really gory stuff. When I say description I mean the victim/survivor will be lamenting the story, you won't read the actual act. So if you can't take that, please don't read this. Govern yourself accordingly.

Please review and thank you for giving my story a chance.

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The First Day

August 10, 2005 Wednesday

"Sorry I didn't get to this sooner, Ms. Novak." Lee Apartments handyman and part time cab driver Jack Olen stated as he loaded his tools back into the dented and paint-chipped Craftsman.

"Forget it and its Casey. You know that." Casey Novak tossed her hand at the statement, the slight rasp ever present in her voice, "It's been hectic around here with the renovation and Kasha's baby..." She tore up another credit card offer and watched it flutter down into the white trash-bag lined receptacle.

Jack nodded and checked the sinks flow again, "Yeah, cute kid. She puked on Ricky yesterday. Made my day, that baby's definitely won my heart." He smiled at his handy work.

"Well, the leak's taken care of. Any other problems?"

Casey smiled quietly, "Yeah, the walls are too thin and I can hear the newlyweds next door."

Jack laughed aloud and shook his head, "I think everyone can. I was two floors up last Wednesday," he spoke with his hands, "they where clear as a bell."

Casey grinned then nodded tearing a bank statement open, her eyes fluttered over the contents, she bit her lip. Her last deposit wasn't listed; she'd have to inquire about it later.

He crossed his arms over his very noticeable muscled chest thoughtfully, his hand rubbed

his chin, contemplating. "You're a lawyer or something, right?" She glanced up at him.

"Or something." She swept up the remaining bits of junk mail and dumped them into receptacle.

"Aren't they violating a city noise ordnance, or something? You can nail them for something like that, right?" He laughed at his own comment, his neck muscles flexed and adams apple bobbed in his throat.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Building code violation, maybe?" She replied.

He shrugged, "That's Ricky's area of expertise." She smiled and droop her shoulders.

He bent down and picked the Craftsman off the floor. Casey eyed his perfectly sculpted back. She had been meaning to ask him out on date of some sort, a drink or movie maybe. But she felt slightly intimidated by him.

Casey wasn't afraid of him or anything like that. But she felt herself blush around him; she also berated herself for that behavior.

_This isn't high school, grow up._ _I'm an Assistant District Attorney, damnit_!

She faced rapists, murders and pedophiles in court, with a vengeance. She snagged warrants on razor edges for her detectives. She delivered and got the job done right, even if her taste in clothing was a bit…_fresh. _Casey had heard the whispers and comments too; let those tongues think her odd.She rather be known for her actions, instead of her style.

But when it came to Jack Olen, Superintendent Ricky Murray's latest protégé, she felt herself crumble around him. So Casey choose to ignore those feelings for the time being, her line of work didn't leave much for a social life, but then again she was on vacation at the moment, a few days to herself. So maybe….

"Well, Ms. Banks needs me to fix the lock on her kid's room. Little punk kicked the door in…It's a phase I guess." His blue eyes glinted and he pushed off the kitchen counter, his tools rattled and clicked in the Craftsman.

"Maybe, but I never kicked a door in." Casey said, pushing away from the small kitchen table to see him out and to indulge in his smile again. He had a fantastic smile, perfectly formed and shaped teeth.

"I did however break a window, but it was an accident. I was ten. Who knew you couldn't play softball indoors." He laughed and glanced back at her, a soft smile on his face.

_Yeah, he's interested. Mutual attraction, yes!_

He opened her door and stood there for a brief moment, and bit his lip, "Say, I, er—get of my shift in two hours and I was wondering if you might like to get a drink or something?" Jack said, refusing to lose eye contact with her.

_Hide the blush. Don't blush. _

"Or something."

_Whoa._

She heard a slight husk in her voice and less rasp. She couldn't believe she just said that.

He grinned sheepishly and cut his eyes at his boots, then back to Casey. "That's a _yes_ then."

"Yeah." She nodded, hoping he didn't interpret her last stupid statement in a literal context.

"Great. I know this great little bar on third and Hutch, my cousin owns the place. So, 9:30 in the lobby then."

"Sounds like a plan."

He smiled goofily and side-shuffled out her door. His boot clipped on the threshold, noticeably shifting the tools. The loud rattle assaulted Casey's ears and she cringed. He managed to find his footing again; he uttered a swift curse and played off the near stumble. Casey chose to ignore it, by biting her tongue.

"9:30."

"9:30." Casey closed her door quietly.

Jack walked lightly on the thin carpeted hallway down toward the double elevators. The Craftsman contents rattled quietly in his calloused left hand. Kasha's baby wailed as he wandered by 4B, she soothed and cooed to her. Mr. Davis's TV clicked on in 8B as he passed. Little signs of life he took note of, playing the nice handyman.

Jack Olen lied.

Casey didn't know that either, never even suspected that he would. He was a normal everyday American Joe, right?

No, he wasn't.

Jack Olen didn't go up to Ms. Banks apartment to fix her acting out teen's door.

Jack Olen headed down to the basement level of Lee Apartments. Jack Olen was going too indulged in his sickness. For the last time too, but he didn't know that and neither did Casey Novak.

He didn't know he was a dead man walking.

(End Section)

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Casey clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and bounced her crossed leg while she was seated on the blue plush sofa.

Ran her index finger over her purse's zipper and twisted the strap with her free hand, growing evermore impatient.

9:45

_He's a handyman, nothing's ever certain. Things happen. Pipes bust and windows jam, give him some time._

10:00

Gary Barns, the Lee Apartments doorman yawned, stepped from one foot the other.

10:15

Nicollet Walsh 6C's tenant, stepped lightly on the lovely, granite floor. Politely smiled at Casey, she returned the simile hoping it didn't look agitated. Nicollet emptied the contents of her mailbox slot and walked back to the double elevators.

10:25

_It's happened except it…Five more minutes and that's it._

10:35

Gary had stepped out for a cigarette. Casey glanced at his direction and saw him chatting up an unfamiliar red-headed woman. He offered his coffin nail; the radiant redhead took it cheerfully and exhaled a plume of pale smoke that faded almost immediately. She mouthed thanks and handed it back to him.

10:45

_Fuck it._

Gary was still outside flirting with 'fiery nameless', as an annoyed Casey Novak walked head held high toward the twin elevators.

A stood up Casey Novak.

A disappointed Casey Novak.

_Men._

Aw well, nothing that, that half empty, double chocolate ice cream carton in the back of her freezer and IMing with her girlfriends couldn't fix.

_Maybe he had a good reason…Yeah maybe. Come on, Casey your smart! The guy's a jerk. Forget about him. _

She forcefully pressed the 'up' button between the double elevators, it clipped in its metal setting and clicked hard as it retuned to its original position.

_Fix that, ya bastard. _

She droop her head a bit and the soft ding registered in her ears, the finger-print stained doors spread and she fought the urge not to falter at what she saw.

"Have you got a cell phone!"

Casey was in shock.

She couldn't be more than sixteen, maybe seventeen at most. She was pale and at one time had rich honey skin and glowing copper curls. She was half naked, battered and bruised.

There was a distorted streak of blood spattered across her face and trailed down her small chest, it was fresh too. It wasn't a gushing wound, so it couldn't be her blood. A busted lip with cracked brown blood caught around her upper chin, it also looked like the meekest of her afflictions.

Her eyes where only half open; she was having a difficult time supporting herself and would have collapsed if not for the arm holding her up. The other warm body that was both her voice and fleshly support, a hooded figure that spoke directly to Casey, with a fierce, maternal voice.

"Damnit, do you have a cell phone!"

Casey woke up to a slow reality, everything was distant and time even appeared to slow.

She tore into her purse and made the call; Casey didn't remember even speaking. It was like someone else was in her throat and spoke to the 9-1-1 operator. She knew better than to intervene too, let this Take-Control-And-Aid-All-Human-Life-Casey-Novak do the talking.

By now the cell phone had slipped from her hand and clattered forgotten, on the granite floor.

Casey threw her own support under the young girl's free arm and walked out from the elevator's cage. The hooded figure was no longer speaking, as if they shared a telepathic link, they drew their young counterpart to the blue sofa Casey claimed only moments earlier.

Gary took notice from the other side of the door carousel and charged in crying out for an explanation.

No one answered him.

He tore the phone of its lovely cradle seated at his desk and repeated the same action Casey had seconds earlier.

His newly female companion followed in and began to cry out, "Oh God! Oh God!" When she saw the sordid state of the young girl. Her multi-ringed fingers covered her mouth and she began to weep, slow at first then into elevated wet, uncontrollable sobs.

The hooded figure press her gloved fingers into the girl's creamy neck leaving new bloody prints, searching for that pulse that existed while she was in the basement, while she was in the short stairwell and fluttered like a butterfly's soft dying beats in the elevator.

It was weak and pathetic, but throbbed with hope or contempt…

Casey didn't remember how or when her brain fired the neurons and impulses to the nerves in her spine, then too her legs. But she did somewhere at some point because she was now kneeling on the hard floor, her knees softly bruising from the pressure and her hand in the thin, bony, loose palm of the young girl.

So fragile and doll looking, breakable, even a gentle Texas breeze would finish her off. Wisp away whatever life was left in her miserable shell of a body. She didn't always look that, Casey was sure of that.

_No, she was healthy and happy at one point in her life...right? She had to be. Why else would she still be clinging onto her corporeal existence? Why else would she be living still?_

In the distance Casey could hear the banshee wail of the ambulance, but was like listening through water.

Gary was now at her side, ranting to a temporally incoherent Casey Novak. His red haired companion had now folded herself on the floor, consumed by a fit convulsion, it was like she was seeing herself in the young girl, in private reality she really was.

The bloody girl moaned and whimpered with thick anguish. Casey spoke soothingly to her, even her own voice sounded far away.

Even as the paramedics pulled her away she spoke calmly to her, hoping to _help_ to—to _effect, _to cause an_ impact_.

No one saw the hooded individual take her leave. No one saw her face, caught her height or weight. But Casey caught her voice. It would eventually become undistorted and resonate with crystal-clarity acoustics in her mind.

"_Have you got a cell phone! Damnit, do you have a cell phone!"_

The only way for her to identify the mysterious woman, Casey Novak would never forget that voice, fierce and maternal. Virtues she lacked and ones she would remedy, someday.

Then time returned to normal.

(End Section)

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Detective Olivia Benson was in the middle of a violent retch into her apartment's milky ceramic toilet bowl when her cell phone nagged at her.

She had flipped up the lid and seat and was on her knees vomiting up the last of the Chinese food she had only an hour ago. Her lovely locks of hair gripped tightly in her left hand as she felt another torrent pushing up though her throat.

Chunky and coarse.

Bitter and acidic.

Her eyes had blurred with tears and the snot her nose started to run as she heard the last of incessant chime of her cell phone.

_Fuck it. They can call back. _Olivia thought as she felt the rush subside, flushed the toilet and then leaned back against the cabinet doors beneath the sink.

She breathed heavily and felt a gross chunk caught in her inner cheek, it was pinned against her gum line; an onion sliver. Olivia tongued it and then launched it into the bowl from her seated position.

She smiled remembering how she and Manny, her best friend when she was thirteen, would to sneak into movies and spit Cracker Jacks or Milk Duds at the back of people's heads in the theater.

Always sit in the back.

Olivia still did, alone though.

Manny died nearly twelve years ago, shot in the head by a gang leader, he was such a good cop.

Her cell beeped twice indicting message a had been left in her living room, she glared at the device on her worn coffee table next to her badge, sidearm and keys.

Most of the squad had gone out for dinner that evening, it wasn't a special occasion or anything, just a habit sort of. Well, rare was a better way to describe it, lunch was more of a daily ritual for them.

John Munch, Odafin 'Fin' Tutuola, Elliot Stabler and the two new rookies to the Special Victims Unit; Nadia Sands and Andrew Gage and herself had all gone to the Jade River, a local Chinese food restaurant.

Captain Donald Cragen had declined the invitation, he didn't say way.

It had been a great evening and the food tasted fine, at the time. Then the rookies being rookies had foot the bill, it was…

…_Tradition. Bullshit. This was fate's revenge for making them pay…That's why I'm puking up my digestive track up!_

The cab ride was fine; it was the walk to the building elevator where she started to feel slightly…_strange_. The familiar feeling became stronger as she opened the door to her apartment.

_Indigestion, that's it. Heart burn. Nothing some chalky discs of antacids can't fix. _

She locked the door behind her then kicked the bottom bolt, dropped her cell, sidearm, badge and keys on the finish peeling coffee table, felt a sharp cramp and gripped her stomach.

_Maybe not…_

She kicked off one shoe and that was as far as she got.

Olivia stormed toward her bathroom, clutching her mouth and awkwardly stepping with one shoe still on.

Flipped the light on, bent a fingernail back, wrenched the lid and toilet seat hard nearly cracking the tank in the process and retched. Eventually she collapsed beside the bowl when her legs gave out, vomiting even more.

Now Olivia shifted slightly against the cabinet door, pulled off her other shoe and threw it out the bathroom towards its mate. Then eyed the finger nail she had bent back, it had turned white with flush and was slowing a streak of red in the center. It would turn purple in a few hours.

_Maybe that was Elliot. He's gotten sick too and wants to storm the place and needs some back up_,she shrugged.

She had gotten sick last week also, at the station that time. She was also getting chills too, at odd times.

_Maybe I'm getting the flu. Flu season is right around the corner._

Olivia paused, _Its over, pretty sure._

She pulled herself up, flushed the small onion sliver, rinsed her mouth out and stumbled out to the living room and fumbled for her phone.

The message was indeed from Elliot; he sounded fine too and was at Lee Apartments with Fin and John. Told her get to get there ASAP, he didn't say why.

_Lee Apartments…Wasn't that Casey's place? _

Olivia brushed the awful taste out of her mouth and swished some mouthwash, before saddling up and leaving again.

(End Section)

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"What do we have?" Olivia directed at Elliot as she passed between the Patrol officers and various firemen around the Lee Apartments entrance.

She arrived just to see the ambulance sped away, sirens and lights at full tilt.

"Not quite sure. The first patrol officers on the scene called it a rape and called us out. Casey was just here. She's headed to the hospital now." Elliot started, Fin and John stood near him.

_Casey...The hospital…Oh God no… _

"She wasn't…" Olivia said with fear in the back of her throat.

Elliot realized her misinterpretation, "No, she was with the vic."

The relief was obvious on Olivia's features.

"She did look good though." Fin commented and John nodded.

Olivia looked at them in confusion.

"Casey had some sort of big evening planned or she just back from it; she's dressed to the nines when we got here. That dress is ruined now." John continued, "She had the victims' blood on what had to be two-hundred dollar party dress."

"Did you get her statement?" Olivia directed at John.

"Partial. She was fairly _shaken_ when I spoke to her. She said she was headed to the elevator, when it opened and saw our vic and someone else supporting her. Some woman, in a hood or something, then she took off in a cab after the ambulance." John replied.

Olivia nodded, "You wanna head to the hospital, get an ID and Casey's full account?"

Elliot nodded.

"We'll take statements here." Fin added.

They were about to part ways when Olivia remembered to questioned the others about the Jade River.

"Did the food set well with you guys?"

"Yeah, fine with me." Fin answered, John nodded in agreement.

"Why? Did you get sick?" Elliot asked in genuine concern.

"Nah, just a little indigestion." She lied patting her stomach.

"I got some Rolaids if you want them." Fin offered.

"No thanks, I'm good." She lied again.

(End Section)

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Elliot and Olivia arrived at Jude's Hospital to find a shocked Casey Novak, in a fantastic party dress, light blue and strapless. John was right the dress was ruined, there where daps of blood here and there, then even a severe slash of red on her side.

She had long since washed away the blood on her hands but rubbed them absent-mindedly as she sat on a hospital chair in the public lobby, waiting for any news of the young girl.

Elliot and Olivia timidly approached her as she continued to rub her hands together, lost in her own thoughts.

"Casey," Olivia whispered.

No response.

"Casey baby," Olivia placed a soft hand on her naked shoulder and Casey jerked hard at her touch and shifted the chair violently in the process, Elliot caught the back of the chair before it could topple over. Casey stared at them for a moment, as if she had no idea who they where.

Then closed her eyes and covered her face, "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's ok." Elliot murmured and took a seat next to her, Olivia on the other side of her.

"John said you left the scene real quickly." Elliot started.

"Yeah, I just…I couldn't leave _her_."

"You don't know who she is, do you?" Olivia detected.

Casey shook her head, lose strands of blonde hair wavered around her face and neck, "No. I've never seen her, not before tonight."

"Casey, we need your statement. Are you up to that?" Elliot asked his physique slightly hunched over to match hers.

"Yeah, I can."

"Just tell us what happened from the beginning."

She shrugged some, "I was going out and got stood up by this guy. He never met me in the lobby." Casey didn't care if they judged her for the time being, other matters weighed heavier then her wounded ego.

"Gave up on the bastard and headed toward the elevator. Then—there—there she was," Casey tossed her hand out into the space in front of her shaking her head some and biting back the urge to cry.

"This kid—" she choked covering her mouth, "Just this kid, covered in blood and half naked standing in the elevator. Looking like shit and dead," she sobbed softy. "There was this woman with her, I never saw her face, just heard her voice. She wanted to know if I had a cell phone. I didn't see her after that. Sorry I can't be of more help."

"Its all right, that's fine. You did great, you did everything great." Elliot touched her softly on her bare shoulder, she felt cold to the touch.

She huffed some and tilted her head some; she had become a witness, a porcelain doll, treated fragilely and now with difference.

She'd be on the outside of the circle now.

_Do I even want to be on the inside of this one?_

"I'm going to see if I can get some prints." Olivia murmured getting up and moving toward the front desk.

Casey sat back and breathed heavily.

"How's your leave been?" Elliot tried to make conversation.

"What? Oh, fine. Went and visited my mom a bit over in Queens you know, that was a fiasco," she shook her head recalling their conversation a few days earlier.

"Some people, Elliot." He glanced over at her, "Some, well, some parents can be just so over-bearing."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Olivia returned holding a scrap of folded tape.

"She's been stabilized and moved to intensive care, but isn't conscious. I've got a print and I'm going to run it. Both of you want to head back with me?" Olivia leafed about the folded scrap of tape with a thin thumbprint caught on the sticky residue.

"I'm staying." Casey said flatly.

"I'll wait with you." Elliot added, Casey glanced at him unsurely.

"I'll be fine, you don't need to."

"No, I need to be here in case."

Olivia stuffed her hands into her pockets some waiting for them to finish, "Alrighty, I'll be back in an hour or so."

(End Section)

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"Her name's Petra Ramirez." Olivia murmured quietly behind the observation window, appearing next to her partner and a disheveled Casey Novak.

"Her prints are listed?" Elliot inquired, surprised.

Olivia nodded, "Government listing, she works part-time in a local blood bank. The others are still trying to locate her family."

The honey skinned Petra Ramirez looked even more petite in the hospital bed, tubes running in and out of her; monitoring her heart, battling pain, relentless fatigue and the consuming dehydration.

Petra Ramirez had just turned eighteen two months ago, a High School Senior, basketball player and honor student, with no missing persons report filed either.

What was worse, she was painfully obvious rape victim. The rape kit hadn't even come back yet, but the nurses, those angles of mercy, knew, they just knew, there was far too much bruising and tissue damage for it not to have occurred.

Why do monsters walk this earth?

Well, this monster left evidence, plenty of it, intentional or not. Those streaks of blood that weren't hers and a whole slew of fluids that weren't of feminine origin.

_She should be having the time of her life right now_, Casey lamented to herself. _Not existing as a victim…no, a survivor._ She corrected herself.

Casey swallowed the heavy lump in her throat.

"Casey, you don't have to be here," Elliot started, noticing her thicker concern, she was already way to close to this.

She nodding knowingly, "Does anyone know who did this to her?"

"No, not yet. Fin and Munch are taking statements right now and searching your building." Olivia answered.

Casey shrugged some, catching a sharp, wincing sob that stung and contorted her face briefly; she fought to regain her emotions.

Elliot gripped her shoulder firmly and reinforced, "You did everything right. Go home and get some rest. You're still on leave, after all."

"No, I can't, I don't think I ever can. Not until this—this bastard…" She trailed off, lowering her head, on the verge of perishing from the over consuming emotions.

_Control! Control yourself now! You're no good to anyone a mess of emotions. But I am, human; I am allowed to weep, to mourn!_

She fought with her inner psych.

_Yes, mourn. But now is not the time, not yet. _

Just then the thick, fluidly world shattered like glass around them as Olivia's cell rang.

"Benson," she started, her face ashen almost immediately with…disgust? Revulsion? Elliot had difficulties reading her at the moment. "Right…We're on our way. That was Fin, they've—found something."

She tuned to Casey about to speak, "I'm staying here." Casey said sternly again, end of discussion.

The two detectives nodded, took a parting glance at the fragile Petra and then took their leave.

"What'd they find?" Elliot questioned once out of ear shot of Casey.

"He wasn't," she tilted her head slightly and then chose the word carefully, "clear."

(End Section)

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"You didn't see anyone else? No hooded woman? Or anything?" Detective John Munch questioned to Lee Apartments doorman, Gary Barns.

"No. I don't think so. Just Ms. Novak and the girl…there—there may have been someone else but—I—I only remember, Case—Ms. Novak I mean….I just…who would do something like that to another living person?" He shuttered under the thick police blanket, his eyes red and wide demanding answers as they peered up to John Munch.

"A sick bastard."

He gotten everything he could from this guy, not much of a statement, he wondered if Fin was having better luck with the other witness. He doubted it though; 'Ol' Red' seemed fairly bewildered on arrival.

The lobby security tapes would hopefully fill in the missing gaps, Casey's account and Gary's didn't match up. One saw a hooded woman the other didn't have a clue about the mysterious individual.

Just then the opposite elevator doors spread open at the end of the lobby, the ones cleared for transport. Two patrol officers stumbled out, both clearly about to toss their cookies.

"Sir, the base—" That was all he could manage before having to vomit into a near by fake plant's pot.

John involuntarily winced at the sound of his retch.

The other officer composed himself and forced his throat to swallow his textured, coarse and burning vomit, "The basement sir, you have to see it for yourself."

(End Section)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Oh Shit."

That was all the rough Odafin 'Fin' Tutuola, Special Victims Detective could say. He had seen some brutal crime scenes in his time, from the gruesome, to the freakish. He could only think of one other case that touched close to the scene _hung_ before him.

For once John Munch was at a loss for one of his sarcastic comments, the kind he could pull out even in the most uncomfortable situations.

_But this was just bizarre, maybe even ritualistic?_

Then there was the inscription finger painted in sharp, bloody, frantic and dripping letters on the cool concrete wall behind the dangling body that slowly rotated in its binds, secured from the ceiling and attached to the floor.

"ITS JUST BUSINESS"

It was even in quotations.

_A mob hit? Maybe… _John thought to himself.

Maybe it was just 'business' judging from the body's present state, even swathed in half shadows John eyed the body. No wonder the two patrol cops got _the queasy_. Stripped nearly naked, save for the scraps of a shirt collar around his neck; face mutilated, bloodied and his body split and flayed from the crotch up. He'd been tortured. Then there was the smell, that thick drowning copper smell the lingering residue of blood, not to mention the faint odor of human defecation.

This was execution.

This was revenge.

This was sick.

Without a word Fin dialed his cell.

"_Benson,"_

"You and Stabler need to get back over here. This is somethin' you two need to see this for yourselves….I ain't seen anything, even remotely close to this, 'xcept for maybe the Sorrentino case." Fin sensed her repugnance through the connection.

"_Right…we're on our way."_

"The Sorrentino case…" John started, searching for one of his wise-ass comments. He shut his mouth realizing he didn't have one.

(End Section)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Second Day

August 11, 2005 Thursday

"_He was in my apartment, Olivia. I was alone with him...I was going to go out with him for drinks that evening!" _

Olivia closed her eyes and thought back to her and Casey's frantic conversation at the hospital the next morning, after the mutilated body was cut down and identified.

Jack Olen.

He wasn't who he said he was.

Jack Olen was born Jack Kershaw. Jack Kershaw was wanted for multiple rapes, the distribution of illegal substances and suspected in connection to a murdered family in Maine.

"_That could_—_" Casey stopped herself there and cupped her mouth, glancing at the still unconscious Petra._

Jack Kershaw got his though, who ever this 'Hooded Woman' was, and yes she existed the security film from Lee Apartments couldn't lie, but it couldn't show them a face either. She really did a number on the guy too.

_Casey briefly shuttered violently then enveloped herself in her arms. It wasn't her though. Olivia could almost sense her thoughts, she was grateful that it wasn't her…Was it selfish to think like that…or human?_

Chipped teeth, cracked ribs, mutilated face, his body split horizontally, penetrated and flayed alive. John was still thinking along the lines of a mob hit, Fin too. But this seemed much more than that, way to personal, overkill even.

The Crime Scene Unit was still searching for any skin traces or fibers that the woman would have had to of left behind. There _had_ to be _some_ evidence of her. You don't go on a rampage like that, exert overkill and not leave anything behind. That just didn't happen.

Medial Examiner Melinda Warner had found some skin beneath Jack Kershaw's fingernails, along with the grit of plumber glue. But there was no way to tell yet of it was Petra Ramirez skin or that of this 'Hooded Woman'. The test analysis was predicted to be back sometime after twelve.

The murder weapon was still there, a large flay knife, discarded and used. It was left unceremoniously beneath Jack Kershaw's hanging body. No prints on it other than his. So there was doubt that it belonged to this 'Hooded Woman'.

Olivia closed the deceased Jack Kershaw's file. He really pissed her off, that 'Hooded Woman' who ever she was. But at the same time she saved Petra Ramirez' life.

Olivia felt torn; she'd taken out one of the bad guys.

What was this?

_Murder, 'just business' or vigilantism? _

Ah yes, vigilantism, like she's never thought about it, wading in those sordid and hectic waters. But you could never leave those waters once you entered them; well, at least not _alive_.

So she didn't. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She had a duty to fulfill, taken that oath to uphold the law. But sometimes bastards slipped though the cracks and they really shouldn't have.

Like Jack Kershaw.

He had a fantastic lawyer every time he was caught and never served any of the major time that he should of. There was always a technicality or something truly insignificant to his case that saved him from spending the rest of his sick and twisted life from rotting behind bars.

Olivia supposed this 'Hooded Woman' had enough of his _good fortune_ or maybe she was one of his former victims who was tired of waking up scared everyday and chose to seek her sour revenge.

"ITS JUST BUSINESS"

Scrawled in agitated, deranged and bloody streaked letters….

"'Liv."

She snapped out of her thoughts and glanced up at Elliot who was approaching, sleeves rolled.

"Petra Ramirez is awake."

(End Chapter One)

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Praise me, encourage me, burn me, or destroy me…just review.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

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Olivia and Elliot arrived at Jude's Hospital to find a sleeping Casey Novak curled up on one of those, frequented, undetermined-origin-of-stain hospital chairs near Petra Ramirez's recovery room.

Without a word Elliot removed his suit jacket and cautiously draped it over Casey, careful not to wake her.

Olivia smiled to herself.

_That's my boy._

A purposely placed cough turned their attention to Petra Ramirez's Doctor, Al Thompson who waited for the officers with his back against her recovery room door.

After formalities, he listed a brief run down of her injuries.

The rape kit was positive. There was dehydration, multiple bruises, a cracked rib and some type of sedative in her system, which would fully purge itself in few days.

She was also recovering quickly, she was fighter. But also a sacred kid, her parents still hadn't been located.

"Is she aware enough for us to speak to her?" Olivia asked.

"I believe so, just let me…give her a _head's up_." He muttered stepping into her room.

Petra Ramirez twisted the coarse hospital bed sheet with her fingers, fidgeting quietly.

_Where are they?_

She wondered if her family had been contracted yet, still overseas, most likely not.

_Damn. _

"Petra?"

Doctor Al Thompson called to her quietly, she jerked back to reality.

"Those detectives I told you about," she nodded understanding. "They want to talk to you. Are you up to that?"

She nodded, "Al?" He permitted the use of his first name.

He stopped, door knob half turned, his face open to whatever she would say.

"Has—has anyone got a hold of my parents, yet?" She asked coarsely. His body language was clear enough, but he answered anyway.

"The Embassy is still looking. I'm sorry, Petra." She nodded holding back tears and the heavy lump.

"Just let me talk to 'em."

_Get this over with._

He nodded sorrowfully and opened the door for the two detectives and took his leave.

Petra observed them sharply as they introduced themselves. Their height, respectable shapes, the cautious looks on their faces, like they where walking on eggs shells around her. As anything they said would shatter her already fragile physique and mind.

_Treat me like an adult. I'm not afraid! I've accepted it! She helped me! She told me I'm a survivor, not a victim!_

"Petra, can you tell us what happened, from the beginning?" Olivia asked quietly after she seated herself along side her handsome partner.

She nearly responded with a wise-ass comment like she would have to her mother when she was younger. When she wanted to know where she had been after curfew or who called for her on the phone. She was just being a mom after all, caring and trying to guide her.

_From the beginning..._She unconsciously bit her lip and began her harrowing tale.

"My Mom and Dad work for the Thatch Computer Corp. They had a business convention they had to attend in Japan for five days. This wasn't the first time they left me alone…they trust me enough, I've earned my maturity, as my Dad would say. Besides everyone in our building knows me and they would be checking in on me from time to time."

Olivia nodded, starting to form her own opinion about her parents.

"I had covered a late shift last Monday at the blood bank, I owed it to a buddy." She cast a glance out the recovery room window, eyeing the hazy New York City skyline.

"Anyway, I was coming home late, later than usual, couldn't hail a cab either, go figure. I was just about to give up when a taxi pulled up finally. Got in and we went out merry way." Elliot winced at her sarcastic tone; he knew where her tale was headed and it bothered him, a lot.

Petra didn't realize she started tearing up until the salty sting, singed at her eyes.

_Don't lose it, you can do this. Just breathe. Take control._

She grabbed a tissue out of a near by floral cardboard box, seated on a side stand. Scattering paper particles into the air that showed up in the soft sun beams, then faded out of existence. Wiped her eyes and composed herself.

"We stopped at a red-light, I wasn't in a talkative mood, neither was the driver and so I let my guard down…It happened really, really fast. I think he used a dart or syringe or something because he just whipped around in the front seat and I felt this—this prick."

Olivia swallowed.

"My whole body went numb, I couldn't feel anything and then everything went black."

She was starting to lose it. The uncomfortable heat was building in her throat and it pinched her nose. She could feel the snot threatening to run.

"You can stop, we can finish this later—" Olivia started, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"No!" Petra jerked as if her touch burned; Olivia recoiled as if she hurt her.

She had to finish this, no going back, she was strong. She told her she was _strong_.

"I can do this…please, I'm sorry. Just let me finish," she spoke as if she needed their permission and that they could possibly deny it.

Their eyes timidly waited for her to continue.

"The first time I woke up…he was…God, it hurt so much." She found herself looking up at the tiled ceiling, attempting to stanch the tears that where begging to flow.

"It—it happened a lot, I started to lose track of time too. I fought hard at first, then he used restraints." Olivia eyes fluttered rudely to the dark bracelets of bruise wound about her wrists, seeing them for the first time.

"Umm…the last time he…." She looked away from the ceiling and out the window focusing on the haze again. Breathed and then turned back to the hard detectives, giving them eye contact this time. She refused to look away.

"I saw this shadow over his shoulder…I thought I did at first anyway. Then that shadow turned into a figure. She ran up behind him before he knew what was happening and she throttled him with some rope scraps, the _same_ kind he was using on me." She huffed with an ironic tone.

"She…she _tore_ him out of me. It happened fast, everything was happening so fast, but I wasn't going to look away. No, I was more wake then I had been in hours. I guess I'd been there for hours…or days. And I was afraid too, I didn't know her...intentions."

The two detectives where still giving her full audience, Petra found it hard to read them.

Did they admire this woman or where they going to track her down like a dog for what she did? Murder was still murder after all.

"They fought each other hard, lots of hits on both sides. He tore her hood off some—"

"Did you see her face at all?" Elliot interjected, Olivia glanced at him harshly.

"Just a glimpse of her hair…The only light in there was a hanging lamp. They knocked it around some, so there were shadows everywhere." She tried to hide the annoyance in her voice. Who really liked to be interrupted anyway?

"What color?" Olivia asked still in the pause of Petra's account.

"It looked black, maybe a dark brown."

Olivia nodded for her to continue, as she made a note on her small memo pad.

_When did she pull that out?_ Petra questioned herself; she observed nearly everything around her, well on most occasions she did at least.

"Anyway, eventually she managed to kind of…stun him I guess. Then she restrained him with these hanging… well restraints. They where attached to an over head water pipe I think…and ankle cuffs, hooked to the floor."

Petra paused to breathe.

"She stopped the light from swinging. I still couldn't see much of her. There was this bucket of water he kept down there, my drinking water, he didn't give much of it either. She took it and threw it over him to wake him. He was pissed too."

Another hesitant breath, thin admiration was in her voice for her hero, her savior.

That made Elliot uneasy, but at the same time he wanted to find this woman, shake her hand for what she did, then slap the cuffs on her. He had to uphold the law.

"She started talking to him, real quick and agitated. He was cussing her, saying he didn't know what she was talking about. I didn't see this but I saw her from the back, she showed him her face fully. He kind of recoiled, it shut him up."

"He started saying he was just doing his job…Whatever that means. She shook it off and started looking around the basement. He started begging and pleading with her for his life."

Petra huffed again, "He even started crying. After what he did to me! He was beggin' for his life!"

Her voice rose at that last statement, she didn't mean for it to. She scolded herself mentally before she continued.

"He had this table covered with a sheet, down there. I never saw what was under that sheet till then, but I wondered about it when I'd wake up…_alone_."

Petra looked away briefly; visualizing the memory, then back to her audience.

"She tore the sheet off, there was a knife and…ah…several cruel looking and disgusting objects!" Petra felt teary at that memory then shrugged it aside.

"She—she gagged him and used one of the objects against him. She screamed at it him 'Not as much fun as receiving it than giving it, is it!'"

She trailed off then started again, "She tortured him then _split_ him…his—his blood sprayed across me and I was happy about it! He was dead!"

That revelation took both detectives aback.

Where they shocked? Surprised? Disgusted?

Petra froze as her last statement resonated in her mind, she replayed it again.

_How can I say that?_

She could no longer look the two detectives in the eye; instead she focused on the folds of her bed sheet.

"She wrote something on the wall, then came and seated herself quietly next to me. She began to untie me. She asked me to listen to her, she said, 'You're a survivor. Like me. You're strong. You will feel so angry and cold toward the ones you love, but don't push away those who love you. Embrace them, take comfort in them. Let go of your hate because it will kill you, like it has me. I've relieved you of your scorn, of mine and of countless others…Remember you are a _survivor_ not a victim.'"

Petra paused from the strong heat in her face, the calm before the storm. The protective dam she placed around her about to breach.

"She helped me up and I started to feel faint, I wanted to vomit but I couldn't…I don't remember much else…except…I think it was elevator music."

Petra didn't realize she was crying. She didn't try to stop it this time, she didn't care anymore. The emotion was too much of her. She let the tears flow and pour like heavenly rain from her young face.

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Casey Novak kept vigil for Petra Ramirez; a girl she didn't even know existed till late last night. She continued to ask about her condition with nurses and doctors every time one came in to her view or when a shift change occurred.

A fresh face that didn't know her, but then she had to explain why she was there all over again. Some would be curt with her, say she wasn't family she had no reason to be there, then the hostile lawyer in her would retaliate viciously, till someone threaten to call security or others would bustle away quickly telling her to ask someone else.

Petra was finally taken out of intensive care then moved to recovery and Casey continued her vigil. But was denied audience with her, family, medical personal or police officer; the only titles allowed to see her.

Some six hours after her horrifying conversation with Olivia, still at the intensive care unit and after Petra was moved a recovery room, a Registered Nurse took mercy on Casey and allowed her to see Petra, but she had to be present with her.

The short haired blonde stood timidly next to the unconscious Petra, then knelt beside her, brushing a tear from her face.

Petra looked so awful, but not as bad as she did when Casey first laid eyes on her in that elevator.

Bloodied and bewildered.

Bruised and battered.

Sickly thin.

Filthy with basement grime, his fluids, his blood, then streaked with her tears and her sweat.

Now she looked clean and refreshed but the bruises remained, soft blues, hues of black and purple scattered here and there, but most noticeable on her wrists.

_Restraints! _ Casey realized in horror.

_That bastard! He used restraints! How could he do this to another human being? How could any one do this to someone's body? _

_Could have been you...Stop it! _She screamed at that voice in her mind.

Casey slipped her hand into Petra's and brushed the copper curls away from her face, "Your safe now," she whispered into her ear, "he can never hurt you or anyone else ever again."

She felt a squeeze.

Casey scanned Petra's face quickly; did she really feel that squeeze? She saw no indication of her eyes going conveniently flutter open at her statement. It was in her mind, had to be, just a hopeful yearn.

"Ms.," the RN interrupted.

Casey nodded her back still to her. She released Petra's hand gently, stood and gave one last look at Petra, the honey glow of her skin slowly returning. Casey felt her throat constrict, then she turned away.

Content for now, she seated herself at her post again and passed out from the over-whelming emotion and exhaustion.

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Casey woke up stiff and disoriented.

_The hospital…Petra. _She realized then calmly stretched and inhaled sharply, a familiar scent entered her nostrils.

_Elliot? _

She noted his suit jacket spread over her and glanced futilely at Petra's door just to see her doctor exit and purposely avoid eye contact with her.

_Their taking her statement…she's awake!_

But she knew she wouldn't be allowed to speak with her, but she was awake. Relief washed over her. Then the familiar awaking urge to urinate tugged at her lower waist, she quickly collected herself and slipped over the lobby restroom.

Casey reemerged to see Elliot and Olivia standing near her seat, Elliot recollecting his jacket.

"How is she?"

"She's a tough kid." Elliot muttered avoiding her gaze. "That—that woman…." He was at loss for words.

"She's put some strange ideas into her head—" He continued.

"But gave her some sound advice, though." Olivia interrupted him.

Elliot gave her his 'come on' look.

"What? _She_ spoke to her? What did she say?" Casey demanded, her eyes darting from face to face.

Olivia hesitated, then opened her note scribbled memo pad, "Example 'let go for your hate', 'don't push those away who love you', 'I've relieved you of your scorn—"

"She a vigilante, 'Liv!" Elliot said sternly, "Someone we don't need running around the city—"

"Yeah, I know that. But she saved the girl! She'd be dead if not for her!"

Casey watched the argument escalate; she held her tongue, nearly on the verge of separating the two. Sparks definitely weren't the best mood for either of them.

"And murdered—no, _slaughtered_ a man doing it!"

"Do you _honesty_ think he really deserved to live?"

"No." He stated in a low voice, avoiding the looks from hospital workers, "But the last thing we need is a vigilante or worse, for the press to hear about this…that there's some 'Hooded Woman'," he emphasized with his hands, "out there taking the law into her own hands. It's like giving license to anyone to do that."

"I know, but—" Olivia was cut off.

As if it was fate, Elliot's cell chimed shrilly. Annoyed, he answered his eyes still locked with Olivia's, "Right…on our way." He snapped the phone shut, "That was John, the test results are in from the tissue taken from beneath Jack Kershaw's nails. They got a hit."

That was it, the argument was over. But the friction would remain until they had a heart to heart and made up.

"I'm coming too." Casey said, giving neither one the chance to even ask her. End of story.

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"Cate Monty?" Olivia mused aloud, seated at her desk. Her superior Captain Donald Cragen nodded.

"Why does that name sound so familiar?" She murmured.

"Maybe because she's dead…Well, theoretically." John interrupted already peeking at Cate Monty's retrieved file.

"What? We're chasing a ghost?" Fin questioned.

"Apparently, she died six years ago. Anyone remember the Monty Murders?" Cragen asked to everyone present.

Unsure and confused murmurs chorused throughout the squad room.

"Doesn't surprise me, this case was…well, very bizarre to say the least. It wasn't handled very well either." He started, shrugging slightly.

"Cate Monty had everything. She was a teacher at a local public school, had a huge house, mother of twins, a boy and a girl and was married to Judge—"

"Frankie Monty." Epiphany struck Casey.

Cragen looked over in surprise, "You know him?"

She shook her head, "Just by reputation. He was a very _shady _Judge. Last I heard he was retried, right?"

Cragen nodded and continued, "Anyway, it was speculated that Cate 'cracked' and killed her children then set their home on fire…with her in it. But she lived."

Olivia attempted to hide a gasp, but Elliot noticed it.

"As I said it was very bizarre case and the trial was even stranger. Cate Monty had an out of this world story that she and her family where attacked by group of people in their home and that she was mutilated and burned by them. Medical reports claimed that the injuries where self-inflicted."

"The house was burned so there was very little evidence of a group of individuals, even if there was one to begin with. What evidence there was always disappearing, the same with certain reports and the entire trial was eventually swept under the rug. She was found guilty of the murder of her two children, sentenced to life imprisonment with no chance of parole."

He paused, "But wait, it gets even stranger."

"Something happened during her prison transport. The vehicle flipped over on one of the East River bridges, the officers' reports weren't very clear on what how it happened. She escaped and jumped off the bridge, still shackled. It was speculated that no one could survive the fall, even unshackled, but her body was never recovered. She was never seen again and presumed dead."

"Cap, this is like listening to an urban legend. Next you'll say she'll appear to you in a bathroom mirror if you say her name ten times in the dark." Fin said sarcastically.

"DNA doesn't lie." John quipped.

"An East River bridge? John, come on. She was hand and ankle cuffed. I don't care if you're Houdini, you couldn't survive that shit."

"Never found a body—"

"Next you'll start spouting shit that's she's involved in government conspiracies and abductions."

"Makes some sense," Olivia began.

The two stopped bickering and looked at her, questioning.

"How so?" Cragen inquired.

"Petra Ramirez said that Jack Kershaw told Cate or who ever this woman is, that he was 'just doing his job'."

Elliot nodded, "She showed him her face too, he did recoil, that could be constant with burn tissue. What happened to her husband?"

"The press and publicity forced him to resign early. Then he remarried, rather quickly too. I don't know much else." Cragen answered.

"Well, I think we'd better have a little talk with him." Olivia said locking eyes with Elliot.

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"Captain," Special Victims Detective Nadia Sands called from Cragen's doorway.

"Detective," he replied glancing up at her, then to returned his focus on the report he was filling out.

"Word on the floor is there's a vigilante running around." She started quietly.

"I won't confirm that—"

"Described as 'Hooded Woman'?" She interrupted him, he bit back his annoyance.

Nadia Sands was blunt and hard headed to say the least and had somewhat of a shady past. She'd transferred to his squad four weeks ago from Narcotics. She was adapting very well too, Cragen hoped it would remain that way. He'd seen Special Victims ware down and destroy the finest of detectives; the task wasn't for the weak.

"That's Casey Novak's description. Why?"

She swallowed, glanced behind her, closing his office door and leaned up against it.

"Gage and I just got back from St. David's Hospital," he nodded; he sent the two out on call.

A report of a little boy brought in late last night, alone, later identified as Nathan Thorne. He'd been reported missing three days ago by his parents. He'd been molested.

"When we asked him how he got there he said that the _lady_ took him. Then we asked what lady he said the _nice lady_, the _hooded lady_, the lady that stopped the bad man. The lady who told him he was _survivor_."

Cragen's eyes stared at her intently; the pen had already dropped from his hand, leaving a stray ink streak on the report.

_Survivor… _

He had read Olivia's report on Petra Ramirez not two hours ago. No one else had even seen it yet.

_How does she know? _

"You read Detective Benson's report?"

"Yeah, but she doesn't know that."

_Thief. _

He recalled her prior occupation before she cleaned up and became a cop. Yeah, he knew all about her past in Europe, Australia and South America. But it was in the past; she'd paid her debt to society and had served her time, but never in an American prison.

Cragen bit his lip at her bluntness. But choose not to berate her for reading a file that she had no business even being near, at least not yet.

"Does Thorne know where he was at?"

"Yeah, strange thing about that too."

"How so?"

"This _woman_ gave him a scrap of paper with an address on it. Gage and I are waiting for your _blessing_."

Cragen nodded again.

"Do you have Nathan Thorne's report done yet?"

She whipped his door opened, ducked out for a moment and returned with a manila folder.

Her captain took it and nodded accordingly.

"Take a SWAT team,"

Nadia smiled.

_A bust! Yes!_

"and Fin and Munch too."

Her heart sank. She hoped to be officer in charge. Prematurity, not the greatest trait she possessed.

He didn't think she was ready or didn't trust her fully. Nadia aimed to please and sought to redeem herself for her past transgressions, she still hadn't fully forgiven herself yet. Three years wasn't enough or so Nadia thought.

She wouldn't let her Captain down, she never did in Narcotics or in Patrol and she'd be damned if she was going to start now.

"Yes sir." She exited quietly.

(End Chapter 2)

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Praise me, encourage me, burn me, or destroy me…just review.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

A/N: About updates…yeah…I'll probably be updating every 3 to 4 days, somewhere in there.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, very much appreciated.

Vertigomac: Thanks for the URL, dude. I'll check it out. Glad you're into this.

VampirePrincess86: Thanks for the enthusiasm. It lifted my sprits.

MeWannabe: Glad you dig it, dude.

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Elliot knocked sternly on the Chase Apartments' penthouse door.

24C.

Another possible address of the reclusive and elusive Frankie Monty, he'd been a difficult person to track down, every address they had been to so far was a dead end.

Elliot and Olivia had gotten several:

"He lived here years ago."

"No, he's been never been here."

"Sorry. You're mistaken."

"I think you've got the wrong address."

And even a crass,

"Who? I've never even heard of this asshole! I'm late for work now. Thanks." Complete with a commentary finger shot in their direction.

Olivia returned the gesture which caught Elliot off guard, all he could do was laugh.

To be put simply, Frankie Monty didn't want to be found.

Now they stood outside the Chase Apartment Penthouse door, a set of very upscale apartments, the nicest they had been to all day.

After he knocked a dog starting barking immediately from within the apartment, followed by the shrill shout of what sounded like a little boy.

"I got it!"

Quick footsteps followed.

The door creaked open an inch and the two detectives found themselves looking down at a little boy with a worn teddy bear clutched in one hand, most of its fuzz loved off.

"Hi. I'm Ell—"

The kid took one look at Elliot, screamed and slammed the door. The dog began to bark even louder at the new out burst.

Olivia tried to hold back a smile, "I thought you had a talent with kids. How many do you have again?"

"Oh, shut up." Elliot muttered.

"What are you screaming about?" A high feminine voice called from within the apartment followed by the soft patter of bare footsteps.

The door reopened again and the detectives found themselves looking at a young woman in her late-twenties, perhaps. Medium height, with a nice build and enveloped in a sheer fabric bath robe with wet, stringy hair clinging to her neck and forehead.

The overwhelming smell of lavender bath wash consumed the two detectives, forcing them to change their breathing, the manufactured scent assaulting their senses.

"Can I help you?" She asked with impatience in her voice.

"Special Victims," Elliot started, producing his badge, Olivia followed suit. "I'm Detective Stabler and this is Detective Benson. We're looking for Frankie Monty."

She crossed her arms, "Yeah, he's asleep."

_Finally, found the guy. _

Olivia did a mental happy dance.

Then realized 'wet head' wasn't going to make this easy.

"Could you wake him up? We just want to talk to him." Elliot continued taking the diplomatic route.

"Yeah, I could. What's this about?"

"That's really not your concern."

"I know my rights. You gotta have warrant or som—" She was turning hostile.

"Lily! God! What the hell is going on out there?" A new voice rumbled from within the apartment.

The dog started to bark again and a television flipped on, mostly likely the doing of the little boy.

"Damnit!" Something skidded and then crashed.

Lily cringed at the doorway followed by the two detectives.

"Terry, I've told you again and again not to leave your damn toys out! Nearly tripped and broke my damn neck!"

Frankie Monty continued to curse whereas Terry ignored him.

He limped up behind Lily, his blunt, bulging belly, lined with sporadic black hair, hung over the bath towel wrapped about his waist.

_No modestly here._ Olivia thought to herself.

"Don't talk to him like that." Lily said quietly.

Frankie completely ignored her comment, "You are you?"

Before Elliot could answer him.

"Their cops. Can't you tell?" Lily muttered tightening her robe and shuffled passed him.

"Shows where you've been." Frankie said insensitively, she ignored him.

Formalities where repeated, again.

"What this about?"

"Your deceased wife, Cate." Elliot continued.

Frankie scoffed, "Bitch killed my kids and then jumped off a fuckin' bridge. What about her?"

"We're investigating a murder and have found evidence of your wife at the crime scene." Olivia began.

His demeanor changed abruptly.

"What? No, she's dead. What murder?"

Olivia ignored his questions, "How would you describe your wife before the _incident_?"

"_Incident_?" He hissed, "Or do you mean _infanticide_? Look she was fine then she cracked taking both my kids with her. Then she started claiming they where attacked by a gang of people. When it was really her, that sick, monster she became. She's dead end of story. I don't care what you've found!"

He leaned in close to Olivia; Elliot braced himself for possible attack, "Cate's. Fuckin'. Dead."

Frankie shut the door forcefully, creating another over-whelming flush of lavender bath wash, pushing both the detectives back a few steps.

Elliot fought the urge to curse and cough.

"I don't like him." Olivia muttered waving the odor away from her nose; she felt a headache coming on. She thought about flipping her finger at the door, then thought better of it.

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"Who's in Room E604?" John Munch demanded from the two star, Moore Hotel front desk manger.

The young female desk manger, obviously frazzled, which looked like her natural state, paused for a moment, over-whelmed by all the officers and SWAT team members.

She quickly leafed over the ledger, her long, fake pink fingernails creating snarl-like sounds along the pages as she skimmed for the room number. She tapped the page with her index leaving an indention once she found it.

"Mark Garston. Check out time was—is 2:00 pm tomorrow." She reported between chews of bubble gum.

"Is anyone else on that floor?"

More ledger leafing and gum chewing, she blew a bubble, popped it, then sucked the remains back in.

Nadia swallowed in slight disgust.

"Yeah, E624 Marko Rivers and E614 James Gibson."

Fin scribbled the names and numbers down.

"Has anyone been up to clean the room?" Fin questioned between her continuing chews.

"Sarah?Noshe'salwayslateonThrusdays.Shehasalatenightfromherotherjob."

_Do you still have your tongue? _ John thought after she rattled off the quick answer.

"Good, don't let anyone up there." John said moving away with the horde officers.

"Ae!" 'Bubble gum' called to their backs.

Fin glanced back just in time to catch the flying E604 room key.

"Helookedlikeacreepanyway."

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They didn't need the room key; the door was already unlocked and had been picked, recently too.

No one answered their demanding knocks either.

So they stormed.

"Room's all clear, sir." The lead SWAT lieutenant reported to John, the officer in charge, after they completed the room sweep.

He nodded watching the other SWAT officers file out of E604. Then the rookie Nadia Sands and her partner Detective Andrew Gage quietly entered the room.

The Moore Hotel room E604 was trashed.

_Some had to of heard this._ Nadia thought to herself.

The nightstand had been smashed, its twin over turned. The lamp molested and flickered on the floor, casting shadows at odd intervals. Tossed and torn bed sheets. Cut ropes hanging from the bed posts. A partial depression in a near by wall where someone had been thrown up against it. Shattered Rattler Malt Liquor bottle, embedded in the carpet, soft glints of glass flickered here and there by the lamp. And then there was the body.

Couldn't miss that, the slightly overweight Caucasian male lying face down, with the large dip in his head the size of a baseball, on the opposite side of the bed, one arm strewn up against the bed frame; rigor mortis.

The entire bed was crooked; the head bed post on the left side was cracked and severely lopsided, it was attached only by a few splinters. The carved, wooden bulb wasn't that lovely hazel finish anymore; it was a dark maroon now; the murder weapon.

The tan carpet had turned a sickly shade of henna around his basined skull creating an abstract fan effect. Soft chunks of coagulated blood and brain tissue had been scattered and embedded in the carpet, along with small bits of skull. Speckles of rust colored blood had sprayed on the near by wall and sprinkled on the bed's sheets and dust ruffle.

_What a mess._ Nadia observed.

Then there was the pungent aroma hanging in the room, strong liquor mingled with human defecation, that iron smell derived from blood and another faint musk….

_...What is that? Oh…it's cum. _

She realized, faint but it was there, somewhere and she wasn't going _blood hound_ it out either. Nadia recalled another officer she observed back in Narcotics during her first week who would have; yeah he could identify any smell.

_What was his name? Shit. _ It was going to drive her crazy.

John and Fin scanned the adjoining walls around the room, both searching for the same bold statement.

It was nonexistent.

John had his doubts; this could be a copycat running around in a hood too. But then again, the press didn't even have a hold of this. It had only been two days though; he wondered how long their good fortune would last.

"Sands to base," Nadia clicked her radio.

"_Base responding,"_ an officer murmured though the static crackle.

"I need a Crime Scene Unit at the Moore Hotel, room E604."

"_Dispatching. Over and out."_

Nadia replaced her radio and glanced around the room, eyeing her two superiors.

"You two don't think it's her, do ya?" She started.

Fin shrugged and John didn't reply.

"Someone heard this." Fin muttered, John nodded at his words.

"Rookie one, rookie two," John pointed at Nadia, then at Andrew, "collect statements from the other floor occupants."

Andrew crossed his arms, "I got a name you know."

"I'm sure you do." John replied.

Nadia took no offense, "Come on Gage, I know when I'm not wanted!" She said dramatically tossing her hair, taking his arm and leading her partner out into the hall.

She pitched a wink over her shoulder directed at John, it didn't go unnoticed.

John felt a thin smile spread over his lips, then he wiped it away.

_She's just a kid_. He thought to himself.

"She's a fox. Why's she winkin' at your crusty ass?" Fin questioned once the two rookies where out of earshot.

"Don't be jealous of my _sexual magnetism_." John replied, observing the body from a far.

"You? Sexual magnetism? Yeah John, sometimes I can hardly contain myself around you." Fin squelched while he leered into the already lit bathroom.

"But you do it so well. I guess just have that effect on some people." John muttered, Fin scoffed and continued to the scan the room.

Room E614, registered to James Gibson.

Andrew continued to bang on the door. No response. Bit his lip and shrugged under his hoody.

"We'll ask 'bubble gum' later, 'k." Nadia purred.

Room E624, registered to Marko Rivers.

Nadia knocked politely, the door opened almost immediately to a young, thin, dark haired man.

"Yes?" There was a ring in his voice.

"Marko Rivers?" Nadia asked.

"Yes." That ring again.

"Did you hear anything last night? A commotion down the hall perhaps?" Andrew cut straight to the chase.

"A commotion?" Marko intoned seductively, his eyes locked with Nadia's.

The years of thievery and poker playing taught her how to hide every emotion, every tell, every blush, though it all, she felt no urge to react to his _tone_.

"I've been known to cause _commotion_, but always in the presence of a lovely woman."

Now he was just grossing her out.

Andrew, disgusted that he was hitting on his partner slammed his arm on the doorjamb between Nadia and Marko, "Look asshole, did you hear anything down the hall, or see anyone suspicious last night?"

Annoyed, Marko moved back from the doorway and crossed his arms.

"No, I didn't hear anyone because I was making love to my Angela, my _focus_ was else where. She wanted some ice for her nipples so I stepped out about two am-ish and I saw someone with a, I don't know…in a hoody-sweat-shirt thing, near the elevator. That's it."

"Could you see a face?" Nadia questioned.

"No, she had the hood up."

"She? How do you know she was female?" Andrew observed.

Just then Nadia leaned backwards into the hallway to scan for a security camera and spotted one positioned in a dark corner pointed at the elevator door.

_Bingo._

The elevator door folded aside just then to reveal the CSU team.

"I am a man. I know those luscious curves when I see them, even if there in baggy _restrictions_." Marko said in a matter fact attitude.

Andrew's patience was wearing thin.

"Marko…I don't want to _wait_ anymore…." A soft siren-like voice called from within the hotel bedroom, a mild husk in her tone.

Marko smugly readjusted his jaw and gave Andrew a leer.

"A moment my, Angela." He said staring at Andrew, "We done here?"

"Yeah, thank you for your time Mr. Rivers." Nadia said quickly reading her partners tension.

He smiled politely, "A pleasure, my dear." He purred, Nadia cringed in slight revulsion, and was nearly ecstatic when he closed the door.

"I knew a girl in high school who would ice her nipples." Nadia started, Andrew looked at her strangely, "Anyway, let's check with 'bubble gum' about the other guy and getting a hold of that tape." She pointed at the camera.

He shot her a 'way-to-go-I-didn't-even-think-to-look-for-a-camera' look.

They passed E604 to hear John and Fin bicker about the crime scene or something else, caught flashes of CSU cameras and the sounds of forensic kits being rummaged around in.

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"James Gibson, when was the last time he checked in?" Nadia etched her index finger along the front desk; 'bubble gum' popped another bubble.

"Well, Idon'tthinkhe's…twodaysatleast. Buthemayhavecomebylastlastnight. MyshiftstartsatoneamsoIwouldhavemissedhim." She sputtered.

Andrew paused, his brain catching up with her answer.

"Give us a call when he shows up." Nadia muttered handing 'bubble gum' one her business cards from the beast pocket her dark maroon fringe leather jacket.

"Sure."

"Where going to need the security camera footage from level E, also." Andrew added.

'Bubble gum' pulled her lower lip inward and emitted a soft sucking noise.

"Is there a problem?" Nadia asked.

"Ithasn'tworkedinmonths." She said it very quickly, faster than usual.

"Aw damnit!" Andrew cursed slamming his palm down on the front desk.

An amber ashtray jumped, tossing flits of gray, a butt and caused 'bubble gum' to flinch.

"What about the main lobby?" Nadia asked jerking her thumb at camera behind her.

"Thatonetoo. Noneofthemwork."

"Aw fuck!" Andrew hissed running a swift hand though his dirty blonde hair.

Nadia disappointed, dropped her eyes, "Look, just call us when Gibson shows up and don't let anyone up to Level E."

She pulled Andrew along with her as she approached the elevator.

"And get these fuckin' cameras fixed!" Andrew shouted in chagrin, slinging his free arm, as he permitted Nadia to guide him away.

'Bubble gum' blew another bubble popped it, sucking in the remnants, "Ass."

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"Damnit!"

"What is it now?"

"The anchor—Shit. It's hung in something."

"Well un-hang it."

"I'm trying, damnit!"

"Cut the line."

"Hell no! I just bought this one, 'cause you and Jenny fucked up the last one!"

"Bullshit. That was all Jenny."

"Well it really doesn't matter does it, because I'm out sixty-eight bucks and now I got another fucked anchor!"

"Well, you dropped there."

Lawrence cut his eyes hard at Chris and cranked the anchor hard once again out of frustration. It was jammed; there wasn't any way to loosen it from above the water.

Lawrence cursed again and forcefully took the slack out of the crank. The cable hissed and slapped the murky water.

He seated himself on the sun rotted vinyl boat seat, removed his shoes, stood and looked dreadfully at the water.

"Chris, you're an ass, you know that."

Before Chris could respond Lawrence dove head first into the murky water.

"You're an ass." Chris said pointlessly to the disturbed water.

Lawrence pulled himself along the anchor cable, its restraint slowly coming into focus. It looked oddly familiar…

…_Oh shit it's a car…The headlights are even on!_

The anchor was caught under the passenger side wheel-whelm.

_What if someone's in there_? Fear whispered in Lawrence's mind.

Lawrence didn't want to know, he realized. He really, really didn't. But it was too late, he already saw the drivers side, a freshly bloated corpse, with its hands bound to the steering wheel. Its face contorted and sickly gray. Its eyes where open, he could see into its soul, it's wretchedly, haunting, soul.

_Join me…_he thought he heard.

Lawrence couldn't stop the scream.

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Mark Garston served twelve years in Walker-Parks minimum security prison for the child molestation of three young boys, had been released and was a registered sex offender.

He was reformed, deemed safe to be on the streets again or so it was thought. Had gotten a decent job and checked in with his parole officer at every deadline, he was making an effort. But he faltered somewhere along the way.

M.E Warner preformed his autopsy; his cause of death was obvious, blunt trauma to his skull. Upon her further inspection of his body Warner found traces of his killer, a small wad of matted hair in his stiff fist and traces of Jack Kershaw's blood.

It was a match; the follicles belonged to Cate Monty.

But no there was no frantic statement painted in Mark Garston's blood at the crime scene.

Nothing, it wasn't even constant with her other murder, it wasn't severe or prompted by rage, it was clear cut and done quickly.

"Alright, we have two murders, both preformed by the same person, one was overkill the other looks more _tame_." Cragen said aloud as he stared at the new crime scene photos on the board and a newly digitally aged photo of what Cate Monty may look like today.

"Any connection between Garston and Monty?" He aimed at Olivia.

She shook her head.

"CSU canvassed the entire floor and all the rooms including our missing man's James Gibson, looking forced entry. Room E617, Gibson's room had been tampered with. The window had been forced open and some blood smears where found on the sill, on the fire escape and the inside doorknob. Guess whose blood it was?" John riddled while he adjusted his dark lenses glasses.

Cragen flexed his head at John.

"Ah, no guess." John shrugged, "They where faint but there was just enough to get a clean sample, Jack Kershaw's. Some of his blood was also on Mark Garston."

"She killed them both on the same night." Olivia said in realization.

"She's not making much of an effort to cover her tracks either." Elliot observed.

"This isn't making sense….She tortured and beat the hell out of Jack Kershaw and this Mark guy she just bashed his head in. I'm not seeing much of a connection except their both involved in sex crimes." Cragen brainstormed.

"She wasn't there to kill Mark Garston." Olivia voiced.

"That's what I was thinkin' too, she was there to knock someone else off, most likely James Gibson, his room was forced." Fin added.

"Cate entered there looking for Gibson, didn't find him and heard Nathan Thorne cries." Olivia added.

"Took out another bastard." Elliot muttered.

Cragen nodded, "Find out everything on this Gibson guy, but something tells me he's already dead."

Elliot nodded; he had the same feeling too.

"And bring in Nathan Thorne, I want George Huang to observe him." Cragen pointed at Olivia.

Just then Cragen's desk phone rang; he stepped aside and answered it, then returned to back to the group.

"That was CSU. They found James Gibson."

(End Chapter Three)

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Praise me, encourage me, burn me, or destroy me…just review.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

Disclaimer Two: I do not own any concepts or characters from the D.C or Marvel comic book universes. Nor do I own the characters; Supergirl, Paris-Site, or Lex Luthor. They belong to the original creators, company and present owners.

A/N: Managed to spit another chapter out, me happy. Reviews are welcome, remember that people, thanks to everyone who has taken the time, I really appreciate it.

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"A black and white took the call early this morning from a couple of frantic fisherman at pier forty-seven. Craned the sucker out and called us in." CSU analyst in charge Derek Roberts started as he led Detectives Stabler, Tutuola and Gage through a maze of various vehicles all in different stages of human forensic probing.

"We shipped the body off to your M.E about an hour ago, expect a report soon, but I can already tell you how he died." He continued as welder kicked on while they passed by a crushed SUV.

"How's that?" Elliot asked over the cutting torch's hiss.

"He drowned." Derek replied as they finally reached the foul river smelling Crown Victoria with a sun rotted vinyl top and noticeable primer spots. It was obvious the car had seen better days.

Derek picked up the digital clipboard that was laid on a nearby forensic table amidst a binder, evidence bags, various finely crafted forensic tools and an ultraviolet light.

"'Eighty-Seven Ford Crown Vic, registered to a Christopher Harris," Andrew shifted slightly at the stated name, the agitation it didn't go unnoticed by Fin, "or James Gibson same guy. Gibson's one of his aliases."

"He hands his where ducted taped to the steering wheel and was he strapped into the seat by duct tape too. We found a wedge caught beneath the driver side dash, most likely the piece used for forced acceleration." He gestured at the wooden plank creating moisture humidity in an evidence bag.

"I'll let your M.E tell you his list of injuries but he looked pretty bad, even with the bloated stomach I could tell his ribs where just a mesh of broken bones. To put simply he had the shit beat out of him."

"Was he alive when the car was submerged?" Elliot questioned.

"I'm not sure…But what really drew my attention was when we hit the lights. Ae, Jimmy hit the lights for a minute!" Derek shouted across the massive garage, a chorus of annoyance echoed about the room from the other forensic specialists in the middle of their own investigations.

Derek ignored the complaints from his subordinates.

The lights dimmed and Derek picked up the ultraviolet light and aimed it over the smeary, but clear Crown Vic's windshield.

"ITS JUST BUSINESS"

Same agitation, same frantic finger painting, only it was written on the inside of the vehicle's windshield, thus it appeared backwards to the detectives and forensic officer.

But the meaning was the same.

Fin bit his lip; Elliot crossed his arms and Andrew felt extremely uncomfortable.

Satisfied, Derek clicked the ultraviolet light off and asked for the lights to be flipped back on, the hustle and bustle of the forensic specialists continued as if nothing had happened.

"You where at the Jack Kershaw crime scene." Fin muttered and Derek nodded.

"Who or what on earth are we dealing with?" Derek quietly questioned leaning toward the detectives, avoiding curious glances from other forensic specialists.

"We're not quite sure yet, so keep this quiet. Our captain will want a full report within the hour." Elliot added, Derek smiled and reached into a binder that sat next to the ultraviolet light, he handed Elliot a manila folder.

Forensic Analyst Derek Roberts, efficiency his middle name.

"I like to think ahead and tell Melinda Warner 'hi' for me." Derek winked.

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"What do ya got?" Fin asked clasping his hands together in anticipation in the climate controlled New York City morgue.

M.E Melinda Warner didn't answer instead she and pulled the damp blue sheet back from the recently autopsied Christopher Harris.

Cate Monty's confirmed third murder.

"She pulverized his stomach," she started. "This Cate Monty, her fists would be covered cuts and bruises. So keep your eyes peeled for that. But he got off a few hits too." Warner stated as she lifted his right hand to show the many fresh nicks and blemishes of bare combat.

"He had some heroin in his system, not a whole lot, not enough to impair. He was a seller too. Nero did a background check for me just before you arrived." Warner added.

"Was he alive when the car was submerged?" Andrew asked the attempting to hide the remorse in his voice.

Warner nodded.

"What evidence of Monty did you find on him?" Elliot questioned.

"From his left hand, his index, middle and ring finger nails where loaded with blood, skin and some small hair follicles. The duct tape preserved it very well. She'd have a huge mark somewhere that near her scalp and hair-line most likely." She gestured to the upper portion of her face to give a general idea.

Fin nodded making a quick mental note.

"Anything else?" Elliot inquired.

"He had a bottle broken over his head, I dug out quite a bit of glass. Not much else except he put up one hell of a fight. Nero said he had some background in box—"

"Cruiserweight boxing champion, ring name the Tripp-Shank." Andrew answered before he could stop himself.

The two detectives and the M.E looked at him in shock.

"You knew this guy?" Fin asked intently.

"No, not personally." Andrew recovered quickly, "Back in the late 'eighties I had a little gambling problem. So I gambled on horses, sports, boxing, you name it. Anyway, I went to a few illegal matches in Mexico, this is before I became a cop…lets just say I won a lot of money off this guy."

"And you're telling us this now?" Fin said in slight accusation.

"I didn't recognize him till now." Andrew muttered.

A thin, awkward silence followed until Warner sought to shatter it.

"Well," Warner said sensing the autopsy report was over and started peeling her blue latex gloves off then plopped them on an examination tray, "that's it, now if you would excuse me I haven't eaten all day. This Cate Monty has been keeping me quite busy."

"It's what the city pays you for." Fin chimed.

"Not paying me enough." She replied, her stomach voiced a growl as if on cue.

"Oh shit." Fin laughed and followed her out, Elliot not far behind.

Andrew took one last lingering look at the bloated and Y-incision Christopher Harris and clenched his fist in anger.

We've all got secrets.

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"Andy-man, wanna grab a drink at Vasquez's? Everybody's going." Nadia asked as five o-clock rolled around while she slipped on her dark maroon fringe leather jacket, un-tucking her long, brown hair from beneath the leather nape.

Andrew shook his head pulling his own jacket on, "Sorry, partner. I have to meet a source. Next time, 'k."

She sighed sarcastically, "You and your sources, I must just be anti-social because I can't keep any of mine."

Andrew laughed, "Yeah, that's it. See you tomorrow."

"Laters."

Andrew walked toward the elevator headed for the ground level, nodded to other officers after the ride down and exited out of the main lobby then walked down the extensive concrete steps to hail a cab.

"Where to?"

"Central Park."

The cab ride was uneventful; Andrew paid his fare and entered the park.

He noted the various people relaxing after a long day, people jogging, walking dogs and bagging their shit, children at play, patrol officers on horseback, vendors here and there, life everywhere and the strong smells of the city mingled with freshly cut grass.

Andrew spoke to no one and continued on his walk, moving for various people on the pebble covered concrete walk, until he finally reached his destination, The Obelisk.

The monument wasn't particularly crowded today, most of the benches where empty, save for the gentleman with his back to Andrew, who was reading the New York Times while facing the massive Egyptian stone.

Andrew pocketed his hands in his slacks and seated himself next to what would appear as a stranger to anyone observing.

"You're late." The reader noted moving another page of the newspaper.

Andrew glanced at his watch; it read five-ten p.m.

"Sorry about that."

"You're call said this was urgent, I sincerely hope it is." He folded the newspaper in half, laid it on his knee and stated marking certain stocks with a cheap pen.

"It is, I wouldn't have risked breaking cover if it wasn't." Andrew replied focusing on various worn hieroglyphics etched on the ancient stone.

"Well, what is it that's gotten you so, _spooked_?" He asked glancing at his young counterpart over expensive glasses.

Andrew hesitated, "Jack Kershaw's dead."

He scoffed his breathing, tilting his head toward The Obelisk, "Jack was an idiot to begin with and he was always getting his dick into trouble. I don't miss the fuck." He looked back at the neatly typed stocks.

"Who did it? Not that I care."

Andrew paused, "Cate Monty."

His fellow bench mate nearly tore the newspaper with the ball-point.

"What? She's dead, East River made sure of that. She's probably caught and rotting in a turbine somewhere."

"She killed Chris Harris too and some baby rapper, Mark Garston." Andrew said very seriously.

The older gentleman leaned back on the wooden bench, in disbelief, staring up at the blue hazed sky, contemplating and processing the new information.

"How do you know it's her?" He asked, focusing on a flock of pigeons over head.

"DNA doesn't lie."

The man nodded and sat up straight again gazing at the monument.

"DNA…I miss the good 'ol days when that couldn't be traced. But there's something else isn't there?" He asked turning and locking eyes with Andrew.

Andrew nodded, "She's been leaving calling cards at the crime scenes written in blood, 'Its just business'."

He nodded again.

"What do you want me to do?" Andrew asked awaiting new instructions from his superior.

He pursed his lips, "Contact David Hebel, tell him to get the word out to everyone that Cate's alive and out for revenge and that they might want to leave the city. I doubt many of them will, though. As far as your task, continue on with the hit, I want that pig dead."

Andrew nodded, stood and was about to leave, "And Jon," Andrew paused looking back at his superior, "watch yourself. She'll be coming after you too."

He shrugged, "Maybe not, Bensyn or Anita will kill her mostly likely. Jack was a pussy, Chris was a hardass, but Bensyn has a fucking army behind him and Anita…she's one sadistic bitch. They won't go down as easily."

"What about you?"

Andrew felt a feral snap in his stomach, "If Cate Monty comes near me, I'll put a fuckin' bullet in her brain."

Lengsfeild Philips smiled at his young protégé, "I sincerely hope you do."

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The Third Day

August 12, 2005 Friday

"This is ridiculous!" Sarah Thorne hissed as she approached her husband Michael Throne and Detectives Benson and Munch outside the station children's observation room.

A uniform attempted to stop her, "Ma'am, you can't go back there."

"Outta my damn way!" She cursed furiously.

"It's all right, Damon." Olivia called; he glanced back at her then backed away.

"Why didn't you call me earlier?" She demanded, her eyes locking with her husband, their teenage daughter with lovely pink streaks in her blonde hair, not far behind her mother.

Olivia braced herself about to be chewed out by a pissed mother.

_It's way too early for this. _She mourned.

A day had passed since Cragen ordered the child Nathan Thorne, to be brought in for an extensive interview and observation by Doctor George Huang.

Olivia and Nadia made the trip to the Thorne resident early yesterday evening, located in a nice suburb outside of the city, requesting that Nathan be brought into the station the next morning.

Mrs. Thorne was absent; she worked evenings and nights as an RN at Booth Hospital, where as her husband reluctantly agreed, but was thoroughly _upset_.

He didn't want his son to think about his ordeal anymore, but what he wanted didn't happen. Ever since they'd taken their son home he had been drawing and coloring the same thing over and over; The Nice Lady.

Nathan Thorne's was six years old; his room was adorned with comic book heroes of the D.C and Marvel universes. He had his action figures, his comic books and licensed clothing with the legendary and imaginary paper hero's stitched and pasted on them.

Now all of those hero's had been discarded and forgotten.

Today and probably for the rest of his life, Nathan Thorne had a new hero, a real flesh and blood hero.

The 'Nice Lady' this 'Hooded Woman', his real hero.

"What is going on! Don't you know he's been through enough!" Sarah spat with scorn, their daughter kept her eyes averted; she didn't want to watch her parents about to have a screaming match in the middle of a police precinct.

"Ma'am, this is necessary—" Olivia started.

"He gave you a statement! He—he had to relive it again in that hospital while he spoke to your—your Detectives!" She was turning hostile and hysterical.

"Sarah. Sarah!" Michael soothed and caught her by the shoulders; she showed no signs of calming.

"This—this—"

"Sarah, look at me." Michael said sternly, she paused and breathed hard holding her head as if it hurt and then slowly looked up at him.

"You allowed this to happen." She said harshly.

"No damnit, listen to me." She peered up at him, "This woman that Nate has _idolized_—"

"The one who saved him."

"Let me finish," he said raising a few fingers. "She's killed other people too. She murdered them. They are just trying to find her, there are only three witnesses who've seen her and Nate is one of them. Just let them do their job. Nate doesn't need any more pressure, least of all from us. So stop bitchin' and all of this will go a lot smoother." Michael finished, a little coarser than he meant to be.

Olivia expected Sarah Thorne to explode, she waited for the dam to break but nothing happened.

Sarah only nodded and looked away.

"How long will this take?" She directed at Olivia.

"As long as it has too, your son will set the pace."

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"Hi, I'm Elliot." Elliot started in slight father-like reversion, his voice turned calm and cool, like he was talking to one of his own children at age six.

But he wasn't, he was talking to a young boy who'd been sodomized and molested by a vicious man, a monster, someone Elliot had trouble even considering human.

But a dead man, no less.

Another bastard the world didn't need.

Elliot didn't trust himself to voice his own opinion of what he really thought about this woman. His argument with Olivia was still fresh on his mind.

"_She a vigilante, 'Liv! Someone we don't need running around the city—"_

"_Yeah I know that. But she saved the girl! She'd be dead if not for her!"_

"_And murdered—no, slaughtered a man doing it!"_

"_Do you honesty think he really deserved to live?"_

"_No. But the last thing we need is a vigilante or worst for the press to hear about this…that there's some 'Hooded Woman' out there taking the law into her own hands…it's like giving license to anyone to do that."_

"_I know but—" _

He wondered what she would have said if his phone hadn't rang.

Part of what he said was true, they didn't need a vigilante running around the city, but she was doing something that a badge couldn't.

Just because Cate Monty had 'hit the nail on the head' so far in murdering people who deserved to die in his own opinion, sooner or later she'd mess up and take a life that deserved to continue living.

Only a matter of time.

"You're Nathan, right?" Elliot continued.

Nathan Thorne looked up from his pile of crayons and drawings then nodded; he extended his hand in a pre-formal handshake. That surprised Elliot some.

The little boy grasped his hand in a warm, firm All-American handshake. Elliot returned the gesture, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Can I sit with you?" Elliot asked politely.

Nathan nodded and scooted over a bit on the brightly colored carpeted floor of the child observation room; filled with stuffed animals of various size and continent of origin, plastic building blocks, a train set, children's books, coloring books and a short children's table complete with small children's chairs.

He could never fit into one even if he tried.

Elliot readjusted his legs into a cross-legged style until he found a position his body would allow. He wondered again why his captain wanted him to talk with the boy; this was more of Olivia's area.

The ear receiver cracked with static and he cut his eyes with annoyance at the two way mirror; George, Cragen, Andrew and Fin where all observing him interact with the child.

"What are you drawing?" Elliot questioned.

"The Lady." Nathan replied not looking up.

"Can I draw with you?"

Nathan nodded again not looking up, instead he pushed the crayons and blank paper his way.

Elliot took them gratefully and said thanks.

"Why are you drawing her?"

"She's my hero."

"What kind of hero? Like a superhero?"

"Yeah, she stopped the bad man. She's like Supergirl. She even has super-strength."

"_Push that." _George's voiced cracked with slight interference, as he guided Elliot.

"Super-strength? Did you see her use her super-strength?"

Nathan nodded, "Yeah, she lifted the bad man and threw him against the wall, even made a dent in it, like Supergirl did to the Paris-Site."

"Oh." Elliot nodded, making stray marks with a blue crayon on his sheet of paper.

"What else did she do?"

"She cut the ropes with the broken bottle and talked to me."

"What did she say?"

"Things."

"What kind of things?"

"Super-hero kind of things."

He was avoiding, Elliot glanced at the mirror, "_Don't let that go_." George ordered.

"Did she not want you to tell me?"

"No."

"Can you tell me?"

"Yes. Can you hand me the black?" Nathan requested Elliot obliged.

Elliot paused, about to push it again when Nathan perked up.

"She said don't be scared, because I was crying. She cleaned my face and held me like my mom does when I'm scared." He continued to etch away at his sheet, filling in the crude drawing of Cate Monty's legs with the child safe black wax.

"Then I wasn't scared anymore. She carried me like Supergirl out of the room, then we where on the street, walking. I asked if she was talking me home, she said close but that I had to go see the doctor before I got to go home. I cried again because I thought I was going to get a shot…" He trailed off, leafing his fingers though the pile of crayons till he found his desired choice, a red.

"She said maybe, but I had to go see the doctor. She said I was brave and that they weren't going to hurt me but help me. She said not to be sacred of them or the police that where going to talk to me. She said I was going to be fine. I believe her."

Nathan stopped talking and continued to color; Elliot paused making sure he was done.

_This is a long shot, but what could it hurt?_

"Did you see her face?"

"Yeah."

Elliot nearly had a conniption.

In Nadia and Andrew's report there was no mention of Nathan seeing her face, everything was accurate except for this bomb shell.

He composed himself and tried to listen to the near shout of George in his earpiece.

"_Don't let that go! So help me_…"

"When did you see her face?"

"Before I went into the hospital."

_He's going to make me drag it out of him_, Elliot thought.

"Why didn't you tell the other officers this? Nadia and Andrew, you remember them right?"

"I don't like him." Nathan said quietly, admiring his drawing then he continued to color it.

"Don't like who?"

"Andrew, he's like Lex Luthor."

"_Lex Luthor! What the hell!" _

Elliot heard Andrew in the background of the earpiece, his eardrum nearly burst from all of the arguing behind the glass. Elliot clamped his hand over his left ear trying to stanch the assaulting sounds.

He shot a 'Shut-the hell-up' look at the mirror.

Silence followed.

"Yeah, I don't like him either," Elliot heard a puff of annoyance in the background of his earpiece.

"So you didn't tell him because you don't like him? What about Nadia you like her, right?"

Nathan eyes lit up at the mention of Nadia.

"She's pretty, I like her."

"Yeah, me too." Elliot the recently divorced agreed.

Another puff of annoyance over his earpiece.

"So why didn't you tell Nadia you saw your hero's face?"

"Because he was in the room."

The slight distrust he already felt toward Andrew was reinforced by Nathan's words at that moment; for some reason he felt warily around the rookie to begin with, "Ah, you know I have a friend who can draw really well. Could you describe her face for him?"

"Yeah! Could I have one too? Mine aren't very good." Nathan rifled though a stack of already colored and drawn sheets of paper. Withdrew a drawing of crude crayon image of a face and handed it to Elliot.

"Well, you can have copy too. But this one looks really good." He gestured at the image.

Nathan shrugged, "Are you going to kill my hero?"

Elliot froze at his statement, a pure, innocent and legitimate question. He realized just how quickly he'd forgotten that children would ask anything, uncensored and without consideration of who's feeling it might hurt or offend.

He wondered what Nathan's first encounter with death was. The Viking-like burial for a goldfish headed to the septic tank or is it was something deeper like a grandparent.

Either way, Nathan knew that there where two constants on this earth; life and death, and then the sin of killing.

Elliot stared into those large, blue eyes the shapes of whole moons and answered slowly and carefully.

"No, I don't kill heroes."

(End Chapter Four)

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Praise me, encourage me, burn me, or destroy me…just review.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

TVCowgurl: Yeah, you will, not for several chapters though.

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Cate Monty had intimidating, yet warm eyes.

They where piecing and seemed to follow you whenever you moved around the room.

Then there was the burn tissue that consumed her throat and etched away at the upper portion of her chin and clung to her left cheek.

She was a model that one time, Cragen remembered reading that somewhere in her file.

She was beautiful at one time, fantastically gorgeous. She still was too; even with the burn tissue and scarring she was still beautiful.

Mickey Blues' sketch was amazing; it put the digitally aged rendering to shame.

Those eyes, penciled fine with gray graphite, strong and psychotic.

The eyes of a killer or vigilante.

Cragen wasn't really sure.

He laid the sketch back down on his desk and peered out to his detectives, each one bustling around like bees.

Searching for any connection between Jack Kershaw, Mark Garston, Christopher Harris and Cate Monty.

Creating timelines, studying reports and accounts again and again.

Taking tips from hotlines after Mickey Blues' rendering started circulating nearly two hours ago.

Tracking down leads, only to find dead ends.

This went on six days; no new murders occurred or at least haven't been discovered, yet.

The next day would shock them all.

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The Ninth Day

August 18, 2005 Thursday

_Shit, there she is again!_

A stoned David Hebel nearly tripped over a vender's cart in Chinatown, while he glanced behind him on the sidewalk.

He earned a swift curse in English from the vender; he ignored it and continued on the walkway.

_First Jack, then Chris…me…she's coming for me!_

David stumbled into an alley's mouth, peered behind him, then down the street, searching for her, that bitch, that corpse, Cate Monty.

He stared hard over the heads of the oblivious, not knowing that a dead woman walked among them.

_Didn't there? Wasn't she dead?_

The various smells of the East filled his nostrils as he inhaled hard and exhaled as equally.

Not according to his contact in the NYPD the press didn't even know about her yet, but that text message on his cell phone was clear enough.

'_She's alive. Jack and Chris are dead. Call the others and get out of the city.'_

David would too, take care of his business and go.

That was his plan two days ago, now he was high on what pot he had left, pumped with heroin, totally broke save for the two dollar bill in the heel of his shoe and seeing Cate Monty everywhere.

Disfigured and pissed.

Stalking him like an animal.

His paranoia, addiction and imagination where getting the better of him.

_Aren't they? _

He held his breath again and stepped out of the alleyway, shoulders shrugged, head hid beneath his Bastards from Hell hoody. He walked hard and avoiding curious glances from other pedestrians.

Then there she was.

Intense and hard.

From across the street, her eyes locking with his.

He couldn't take it anymore.

"What the _fuck_ do you want from me!" He screamed feeling the hot tears in his eyes.

People stared at him awkwardly.

She didn't reply, but smiled wickedly.

"Bitch! What do you want?" He screamed, still high, spread his arms in a hostile manner, then he slipped off the curb, a taxi clipped him, flipping him on to the hood, bouncing him against the windshield, causing it to spider-webbed under his weight.

The cab screeched to a halt flinging David off the windshield.

He lay there on the hot, filthy pavement for a moment.

Gasps filled the air and along with several "Oh my God(s)."

People rushed to his side.

David groaned and gathered himself on to his knees. Someone placed a hand on his back; he shrugged it off and stood quickly.

"Get the hell away from me!" He blinked hard and tried to wipe the blur from his eyes.

From his haze he searched for her, then there she was, on the opposite side of the street, she had never moved.

She laughed at him.

Fear consumed David Hebel, he pissed himself and ran, not knowing that his visions where all marijuana induced.

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"_He's dead…"_

9-1-1 Operator Cynthia Hagen paused, "Ma'am, who's dead?"

"_He's dead! My husband's dead! Oh God!"_

A child screamed in the background of the phone call, Cynthia cringed at the loud sound.

"Ma'am, ma'am I need you to calm down and tell me where you're at?"

"_Oh God—"_ Deep, resonating sobs and children screams echoed through the connection.

"Ma'am your address—"

"_Twenty-six fourteen, Shadow Waters outside of Queens!"_

_Shadow Waters…the side of the tracks I was never allow on…_Cynthia realized.

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"Bensyn Connors." Olivia clicked her tongue in tsk, "This woman is crazier than I thought." She concluded as she viewed the mutilated and broken body of the infamous drug lord, gun runner and entrepreneur.

Although it could never be proved that Bensyn Connors was actually drug lord or gun runner, but it was rumored he was.

The Connors family was very powerful; they were also virtually non-existent until nearly seven years ago. They just appeared out of nowhere and then became a giant blip on the Narcotics division 'radar'.

Nadia Sands had been involved in several sting operations back when she was in Narcotics, trying to nail Bensyn Connors, each one was a bust.

He was very, very smart and always one step ahead of everyone else.

Bensyn was also rumored to have some of most popular and powerful 'movers and shakers' of New York City and the greater world in his back pocket.

When ever a problem occurred within his realm of enterprise he could always buy off the _concerned_ parties with money or political promises.

Even with all that wealth and power he couldn't buy off the angel of death, Cate Monty.

Olivia noted the broken bottle of aftershave in the sink, the expensive kind too, a shaving can cap floated and bobbed in the bidet. Its can wedged in the pipes behind it. The strong fragrance loomed overhead in the large master bathroom, covering up the smell of blood and human defecation.

Then there was the frantic, bloody footsteps on the bathroom floor, some bare and others foot soled and their respectable counterparts smeared along the walls; red looming handprints.

She focused on a particularly clear footprint on the ebony marble floor.

_About a size nine, maybe ten? _She made a mental note.

The shoes where print-less, no intricate or complicated design to follow.

_Smooth bottoms, very little traction, the quiet kind of shoes for 'creeping'. Assassin… _

The modest schoolteacher and mother turned murder/vigilante knew her stuff.

_Or someone's helping her… _

Olivia glanced at the threshold where the bathroom and bedroom met, there where thick bloody footprints made from the same kind of sole, where Cate Monty wiped her feet clean, she didn't want to leave bloody tracks.

So now her tracks beyond the bathroom where invisible to the naked eye, but not to an ultraviolet light.

Nadia and Andrew along with a CSU where tracking her 'exit path' while her and Elliot observed the crime scene.

But surely Cate knew they'd find her trail, eventually. Unless she just wanted to slow them down, at least temporally.

Cate was sloppy when it came to the evidence she left behind, but it didn't really matter and she knew that.

What good is evidence you can even find the woman who was leaving it?

She was registered as a dead woman in the United States and the rest of the world.

The fantastically manicured bathroom was in shambles. There was a shattered mirror, tossed toiletries, wrenched cabinet doors and blood, that human fluidly, blush was every where.

It had sprayed on the ceiling, the adjoining walls and doors, along the floor, just every where. In bold prints and wide smears, without the broken bottle of aftershave the smell of blood would have been unbearable for her.

She had noticed her sense of smell had seemed _heighten_ lately.

_Allergies._ She brushed her newly intensified scent to that.

Olivia had never realized there was that much blood in the human body.

Bensyn Connors was nude, he laid torso down and head turned upward in a pool of his own blood on the fine, ebony marble floor.

_His neck's been broken_, Olivia understood.

She viewed his head, turned in an awkward matter, the stretches of skin around his neck pulled into a sick twist. His skin didn't even look real; it looked like pale plastic and dully fake.

There where several stab wounds and wicked lacerations all over his Da Vinci sculpted-like body.

Bensyn Connors was fit and very attractive when he was alive.

She noted the murder weapon, an old fashioned straight-edge shaving razor. It must have belonged to Bensyn; she recalled the can of shaving cream.

_He probably had just taken it out._

The blade had broken in two when it clattered on the marble floor; Cate must have dropped it when she was satisfied with her work, her 'twisted masterpiece', 'her business'.

The gleaming manufactured tool, her recent appendage, now useless to her, it was discarded, forsaken, used and was deposited as just on the floor.

Olivia leered at the broken blade, _Does Cate even carry weapons? _

Every weapon they found at every crime scene belonged to the victim or was a fixture in the room. She never brought her own _party favors_.

Elliot glanced at the a crumpled bath towel that hung on the toilet rim, dipped into the cool, pink water, no doubt the one Bensyn had been wearing when Cate attacked him.

He was careful of the blood droplets that where here and there, spatters that ranged from furious to the more subtle and meek.

Then just like at the other two premeditated crime scenes there was Cate Monty's bloody calling card:

"ITS JUST BUSINESS"

This time it was written on the distorted shower glass door, with slight frosting of the glass, humidity emitting from Bensyn Connors's still warm body.

Same tone too; frantic, agitated, enraged and deranged.

CSU cameras flickered and clicked around the bathroom and the adjoining bedroom.

Elliot glanced at Olivia, speaking with only a look, she nodded.

Nothing more they could do here, CSU had the _field_ now.

They peeled the powdered lined latex gloves off and dropped them into a CSU trash receptacle in the bedroom and followed the feminine cries down the hall.

The newly widowed Josephine Dawn Connors sobbed with hectic and frantic breaths into her silk, floral embroidered handkerchief.

John and Fin waited patiently for Josephine to compose herself at her own pace.

Josephine breathed hard again and the wiped the stingy snot away from her red, raw nose, discreetly.

"God, I'm sorry—I know you have your investigation and questions to ask, just_—_just bear with me." She murmured her eyes red and raccoon-like from the non-water proof mascara.

"Ms. Connors, take all the time you need. Just take your time and tell us what happened from the beginning." John said in genuine comfort, placing a hand on her lovely, pale shoulder, her strapless party dress looked so dreary and large on her now.

_They must have had a terrific evening planned, it's been foiled now._

Josephine nodded and readjusted herself on the white plush sofa, Olivia and Elliot came in her line of sight. She stared at them for a moment then looked away.

"Bensyn and I_—_we where going to a friends party tonight, some garden party. We couldn't have been separated for more than an hour. I already put my face on and was playing with the twins in their room on the ground level," she huffed some, then felt her tears threaten to run, "My girls_—_our girls, they've really gotten into this tea-party kind of stage."

She laughed at the ridiculousness of her last statement, then cried some uncomfortably.

Josephine composed herself and continued, "So I was playing with them and kind of lost track of time. I glanced at their little tea set clock and saw we should had left nearly ten minutes ago. I called up stairs to him saying we where late and I'd meet him at the door."

She paused and wiped her face, "I was going over things with Nadine, our children's nanny. And he still didn't come down the stairs. So I went to check and I found _him_…" She trailed off, Fin made a few more notes on his memo he produced only moments ago.

She focused on the floor, not knowing what to say next.

"Thank you very much Ms. Connors. You have our deepest condolences. You've been such a great help, we just need to know, did you see anyone or hear anything?" John asked in fear that she would shatter before his eyes.

She shook her head slightly, tousling her black, strewn hair from the expensive clip, "Nothing…no one."

Just then Nadia appeared out of nowhere and placed a quiet hand on Olivia's shoulder, as she and Elliot stood in the walk way watching John and Fin finish with Josephine.

Olivia shuddered at her touch, then turned to the rookie.

"We've found her entrance and exit."

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"She was running as you can tell," Nadia indicated to the small orange markers in the pattern of long running strides, down the hall just outside the crime scene.

They continued down winding corridors lined with CSU markers till they reached a flight of stairs that would lead them to the roof top.

The markers became less frequent; Cate had taken the steps two at a time. She must have buckled along the away, two distinct bloody, but faint hand prints that where plastered on each side of wall on stairwell.

_Not as good as you thought…_Elliot thought to himself.

They exited the stairwell to the roof top, the cool night breeze struck them and Olivia tugged at her jacket. Gravel crunching beneath their footfalls on the rooftop.

"She picked the lock on the door," Nadia gestured to the door they just exited, "probably used a pick like this one." She produced a small instrument from her breast pocket.

Various CSU specialists buzzed around the roof top, dusting this, photographing that, efficiency their reputation.

Before Olivia could question why she carried a pick, Nadia was already changing the subject and returned the pick back to her pocket.

"We found tracks from her landing here and from her take-off tracks here." She pointed to more orange markers in gravel-craters, distanced very far apart.

"Take-off? Landing?" Elliot questioned with puzzlement, "What is she? A plane?"

Nadia smiled, "See that roof top?" She pointed across the wide roof top to another building's roof top.

They nodded.

"She jumped from there to here." Nadia said in a matter of fact sort of attitude.

Elliot looked at her in disbelief; Olivia had the same sort of look on her face as the two swiftly walked over to the building's edge, followed closely by Nadia.

Elliot looked over the edge; the Shadow Waters building was forty stories high.

_Long way down…No way…no ones that agile…_

Olivia recoiled from the edge, swift vertigo nibbled at her temples; she gripped her abdomen feeling a churn.

"That's_—_what a twelve, fifteen foot stretch?" Olivia said trying to regain composure as she gestured at the huge gap of space between the buildings.

She couldn't hide her nerves.

"Fifteen at least. She must have pole-vaulted or something, no one could jump that." Elliot said in doubt.

"Not necessarily," Nadia murmured crossing her arms, her superiors looked at her with question, "Well, you know….ok, back in Italy and Rome, Paris and even here, when I was a kid, my brothers and I would…well…building jump. It was a game, sort of."

Elliot gaped at her, "Did you grow up _hard _or something?"

"Naw, we just…look it can be done. I could jump this without a pole-vault, anyway. Besides she didn't use one. There's no indention of one." She motioned at the gravel.

Olivia rubbed her temples then shook it off, "Where Gage?"

"He took a CSU team over to the next building to gain access to the roof and security film."

"Why didn't you just jump over there?" Elliot said still not believing that she played such _games_ as a young girl.

What ever happened to basket-ball, jump rope or soccer? Games he played in that Catholic schoolyard. He never got so bored he jumped from building top to building top.

"And fuck-up a crime scene?" Nadia retorted and walked away annoyed.

"She has a point." The queasy Olivia Benson murmured when Nadia was out of earshot, then turned and followed her.

"No way, no one could jump that." Elliot muttered to the night as the access door opened from the other building top, Andrew and the CSU team swarmed the rooftop carefully.

"No way."

(End Chapter 5)

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Praise me, encourage me, burn me, or destroy me…just review.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

A/N: Two chapters this time, mainly because this one is from the point of view of a character I created, 85 of it…so yeah…enjoy.

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The Tenth Day

August 19, 2005 Friday

Vince Connors nearly jammed the carousel's door cylinder as he passed through it, to the Shadow Waters lobby, the building he spent his teenage years growing up in.

The twenty-three year old stormed passed the doorman he'd know since he was twelve, ignoring pleasantries and condolences.

He noted patrol officers; he didn't even pause for them, just rushed to the elevator.

It was two a.m., he had just heard, his father had been murdered. Vince had been asleep in his marital bed with his new wife, Sofia, when the news reached him.

They had, had such a _nice_ evening.

Then the cordless on Sofia's nightstand split the bliss of sleep. She fumbled with it till she finally maneuvered it to her ear.

"Hurmm….Hello," Sofia muttered in pleasant exhaustion.

"_Sophie?"_

It was Fabiana, her young sister-in-law.

She sounded sacred and had been crying, Sofia said up bolt upright in the plush bed.

"Fabi, where are you? What's happened? Are you hurt?" Sofia said in a flush of fear and confusion.

By now Vince had awoken from his own slumber at the mention of his kid-sister name.

"What is it?" He demanded.

Fabiana's voice was frantic and sob filled, Sofia couldn't understand anything.

"Fabi, calm down and tell me what's happened?" Sofia said soothingly into the phone, she had stood up now, starting to pace back and forth as if it would help, on the soft carpet, nude.

Vince watched her intently and very concerned, holding back his own fear as he bit his lip.

Fabiana finally calmed down enough and spoke clearly through the cordless, Sofia's expression and demeanor changed from fear to sadness. Then they hung up.

Sofia's eyes welled with tears as she allowed the phone to slip from her hand and plummet quietly on the carpet, the dial tone drummed on.

She mouthed and flexed her lips, but couldn't form the words.

Vince couldn't take it anymore; he flung the sheets off, equally nude, moved and gripped her by the shoulders. He could feel his own tears form in his eyes, he didn't want to know, but he had too.

"Tell me," he said barley above a whisper.

"He's dead…Your father's been murdered." She sobbed.

_Dead? Murdered? _

The words registered but had no definition for a brief moment in his mind.

He carefully placed her on their bed and began to gather his clothing, dressed then left without telling her where he was going.

She knew where though, and she'd be with him soon.

He stood in the Shadow Waters elevator, breathing hard.

_Dead? Murdered?_

Names began to flood into his mind, names of all the enemies and rival individuals his father and family had.

_Which one had done this? Which one wanted to die?_

He stepped out of the elevator coming face to face with several police officers, he moved hostilely. A uniform stopped him and placed a hand against Vince's chest, he nearly reacted by taking it off at the shoulder socket.

"Who are you?" The uniformed asked sternly.

"Vince Connors. Where is my mother?" He demanded, the uniform stepped back and showed him down the hall to his younger sisters' bedroom.

Fabiana saw him first and tackled him in an enormous hug.

He held and consoled his younger sister as she mourned loudly into his neck. Then gently un-entwined her arms from his neck and scanned the room for his mother.

There she was, holding his youngest siblings, the twin girls Odelia and Ophelia in her maternal arms, rocking back and fourth as if a breeze was pushing her.

Odelia and Ophelia had long since fallen asleep, but Josephine remained awake, she looked over to her oldest child, deep redness in her eyes.

He approached and collapsed at the foot of the twins' bed, his anger and mourning emotions welling in his body. He finally looked up to her.

"Vince, your father…My husband…Is dead." She started in a whisper so the officers couldn't hear her, "You know what this means…Don't you?" Josephine's voice was dry and unforgiving.

He nodded.

"You are in charge of _everything._ You have to avenge his death, you know that." She murmured as he slowly reduced to a child before her very eyes, that thick lump in his chest and throat steadily growing.

"Who…Who was it? Jones? The Roses? Basso? Natalie and her bitches?" He questioned, holding back his brimming tears.

Josephine shook her head, "We have honor amongst ourselves and our counterparts. They are not this _low_. This was someone _else_. I don't know who." She answered.

Her words resonated in his mind; he slowly stood and turned to leave. Sofia had arrived and was now embraced with Fabiana; he passed them and said nothing.

"Who's the officer in charge?" Vince asked to a swarm of uniforms and suits in the living room of the Connors floor.

"That'd be me." A balding man answered in a suit and approached him, offering his condolences and introduction. Vince only half heard him.

"Where's my father?" He questioned with a resolve in his voice.

"I don't think_—_"

He didn't want to hear this, "Look, just let me see him. I have to know what happened."

Captain Donald Cragen held his breath and nodded.

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A white sheet had been draped over Bensyn Connors broken and bloodied shell. It had started to absorb his father's blood in various places.

Vince was glad that, that sheet was there, he didn't want to remember his father as a severed and lacerated corpse.

He focused again on the bloodstained shower door.

"ITS JUST BUSINESS"

Written in his father's blood.

"ITS JUST BUSINESS"

Written in his father's home.

"ITS JUST BUSINESS"

It screamed at him.

His mother was right, none of their rivals or enemies would go this far. This was new player in the chess game of organized crime.

"Is there_—_do you have any idea who did this?" Vince asked quietly, his eyes still locked with the bloody statement.

"We believe so."

"Who is he?"

"She. Have you ever heard the name Cate Monty? Or heard your father mention her?"

"_She_? A woman did this?" Vince said in more repulsion than shock as he turned to the older man, he nodded.

"No, never."

Vince paused and then glanced back at the words on the shower door.

"She's killed others hasn't she?"

Cragen nodded again.

Vince looked at his dead father again, tucked beneath that sheet and clenched his fists.

"Thank you for allowing me to see my father. And as for your officers, I know they will perform to the best of their ability, in apprehending this _monster_. Please let me know if I can do anything to assist."

Cragen said his thanks and nodded as Vince exited.

Vince had to make a dire phone call, the most important in his adult life, most likely.

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It was six a.m; the police had finally exited Shadow Waters, taking the body of Bensyn Connors with them. Tapped off the areas of the Connor's home and returned to their station to continue their investigation.

Vince and Sophia insisted that Josephine, Fabiana and the twins return to their apartment in the Fallon building, packing a few clothes and other necessities, the mourning and tried clan piled into their black SUV and headed to Fallon.

Where as Vince had an important meeting to attend too; he walked the twelve blocks to Jen's Café, refusing the thought of a cab, he had to think.

He passed all sorts of people on the street that sad morning. Tired working girls, hanging it up for the night, shop owners lifting the security gates to their shop fronts. Patrol officers, business men and women off to start a new day in shirts and skirts, then those students still finding themselves in life.

People just being ordinary people; living, fighting, coexisting and surviving.

Where did he fall in those categories?

He was so distraught and angry.

_God, I need smoke. _

Vince quit smoking nearly two years ago, at the timid request of his Sophia. He did too, cold turkey. He'd do anything for her, _anything_. But he'd also do anything for his family and their name. Sofia knew that too, she knew what _kind_ of family they where. She came from the same _kind _of family.

He spotted a newly opened bodega; he'd forgotten that there was one so near to Jen's Café. He couldn't help the craving; he stepped in and bought a pack of Harts and a cheap lighter. Gave the cashier a new twenty and told him to keep the change.

The cashier was delighted and asked him to take a lottery ticket someone had forgotten that morning at the register.

"Good luck is dropped by others." The vendor lectured and stuffed the ticket into his hand.

Vince didn't need the money and didn't believe in luck, but he grudgingly took it and bid the vendor good day and left, the itch for a cigarette getting stronger.

Once outside he tore off the plastic wrapper and deposited in a pubic waste bin and lit up.

_Oh, that's good…_

Vince inhaled and slowly exhaled as he crossed the busy street, absorbing the sounds and smells of New York City in the morning; cat-calls, steam vents, car horns, fresh pastries, mindless chatter, car pollution, engines, etc. That daily grind that you don't really notice once you've lived most of your life in the city or all of it. You really have to look and listen for it.

He finished the fag and extinguished it in a sand tray before opening the glass door to Jen's Café; she wouldn't have allowed him to smoke in her place, not anymore, never wanted him too either and he wouldn't start that again.

The customer bell chimed above the door and a middle-aged woman with some extra weight on her body that made her look healthy, glanced up from the other side of the freshly disinfected counter.

Jen.

Sadness pinched at her features as she quickly rounded the counter and embraced him.

The strong smell of honeysuckle that always clung to her entered his nostrils taking him back to his teenage years when his father would conduct his more _private meetings_ in and on the café's loading port.

There was a massive honeysuckle vine she cultured and tamed upon a trellis in the small, private garden behind her café, it was especially strong in the morning. The seemingly-ever present scent lingered in the alleyway and loading port, even in the winter when the blooms had died; you would swear you could smell the stray and phantom aroma; which was impossible.

"I just heard. Oh, Vinnie. I'm so, so sorry." Jen whispered in her raspy chain-cigarette voice in the crook of his neck.

He fought the choking urge to cry and collapse into her arms, like he did when he was seventeen that horrible night, that terrible, wretched summer evening; that he still hadn't forgiven himself for.

"If there's anything I can do? Just call me and I'll be there. I owe so much to your mother and father. Josie…I'm going to see her later today. She's not at the house is she?" Jen asked pulling back from him; his hands loosely cupped her elbows.

"No, she's at Fallon with Sofia. She'd like to see you." He bit back his tears.

"Is Damien here?" Vince questioned, he had to get it together. Find that _bitch _who killed his father and then…then he could mourn. But not yet, take care of business, just like Bensyn would have said to him.

"_Always take care of business and then you can relax; completely and totally."_

It was just Bensyn's work ethic and Vince would never forget it, ever.

Jen nodded, "Back booth. Can I fix anything for you?"

He shook his head, he didn't have much of an appetite, doubted he ever would again.

Not after viewing that bathroom turned slaughter-house.

"Some coffee would be nice." Vince added, a jump other than cigarettes to start this awful day.

"Irish?"

Vince shook his head, "I already picked up a bad habit on the walk here." He padded the pack of Harts in his trench breast pocket.

Jen knew that, she smelted the familiar smell on him that took her back to 1995, when she first caught Vince smoking one of her Harts in the back kitchen. She scolded him for it, sternly saying if he ever did it again she'd beat him blue.

Secretly, Jen knew his father would be enraged if he found out that he picked up the habit from her. She didn't want Bensyn angry at her; she knew his wrath all to well.

Jen quit the same year Vince was married, one of her wedding gifts to him. She'd been clean ever since, but it wasn't quick enough to stop the lung cancer, she hadn't told anyone yet and now most certainly wasn't the right time.

"Black then." She corrected herself; Vince nodded as she returned to the other side of counter to put on the first pot of the day.

Vince walked to the far end of the Café to the last booth near the back exit, next to some decaying pay phones. Slipped onto the flexible bench, creating a soft friction, he noted the sleeping form of Damien Burroughs on the other bench. His black beanie head cradled on his blue leather jacketed arms upon the clean table.

Vince leaned back on the bench seat and rubbed his temples, the stress causing a headache.

_Come on, time to get this over with. _

He reached over and lightly shook Damien's bent arms, rousing him immediately.

Damien didn't stretch in that morning manner as most people did, instead reclined and wiped the dried tears and crust from his eyes, Bensyn had meant a lot to him.

Bensyn had essentiality saved Damien Burroughs from certain death by addiction or drug dealer in a would be back alley somewhere. He saw the potential in the young Oregon runaway and high school dropout.

Bensyn took him from that lowly, grimy, delinquent who became a drudgery street fighter, who stole and propositioned his body in unsavory manners to support his crack addiction, and made something of him. Damien had no goals in life, was deserted of all hope and held dead dreams.

Damien Burroughs had nothing, he had become_ nothing_.

He took him from that terrible life and made him something. Bensyn cleaned him up, finished his education, and gave him a greater purpose during the year 1981.

Working for the Connors family doing various _tasks_; he forever felt indebted to Bensyn Connors and would do anything to help his family in this time of mourning and need.

_Anything_.

After he said his condolences and his promised renewed allegiance to Vince and his family; Vince started their meeting.

"Cate Monty. Ever heard of her?"

"No, never. Who is she?"

"According to the NYPD she's the one who killed…No _slaughtered_ my father." Vince brought his fist to his mouth as he saw a forced flash of that bloody bathroom in his mind's eye.

Jen arrived just then with two steaming cups of black coffee, set them down, as the two murmured thanks and quietly retuned to her kitchen. Her regulars where slowly filtering in.

"I want you find out everything about her. I want to know where she was born, any affiliations, who she working for, if she has any family, who's she fucked, where she been, _everything_." Vince emphasized each request by pointing unconsciously at the table, Damien jotted down her name on a tattered gas receipt he produced from his billfold.

"And any photo's too, most currant." He added.

"Are you going to employ Terrance's _services_?" Damien asked with a slight menace in his throat.

Vince shook his head and drank from the etched ceramic cup.

"No, I want the city to kill her." He replied, placing the cup down.

Damien looked at him thoughtfully, "Explain."

"Terrance is fantastic at what he does, but I don't want a hitman for this. I'm going to hold a conference with the press soon, I'm sure they've already heard that my father is dead. Then I'm going to use it to place a one million dollar bounty on her head; dead or alive to anyone who brings her to me. Give the NYPD a _hand_."

Damien sneered, "Playing dirty. I don't blame you, but I don't see how the boys in blue are going to let you do that?"

"Simple, I'm not going to tell them."

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As it turned out Cate Monty did indeed jump from 604 Hutchison, a building containing various offices and business, too Shadow Waters Apartments, then repeated the task vice versa.

She also left plenty of evidence, which was all still, at the moment useless. Her first jump to Shadow Waters had been an excellent one or successful compared to the second jump.

On the Shadow Waters building top there was blood droplets here and there, splatters from her running jump on the white gravel and even a heavy partial smear of Bensyn's blood on the concrete ledge, it came from her trouser leg.

Upon her landing on 604 Hutchison, things must have gotten hairy for her. CSU found her landing point in a tossed area of grit, debris, blood and a small thatch of torn skin, with glove fibers in the mesh of tissue and blood. Cate ripped her hand opened when she skidded on the roof top.

Something spooked her, it was theorized that she was nearly caught by Josephine Connors. Left in a rush, leaving stray blood streaks here and there, made a quick jump and screwed up on the landing.

Then discarded most of her clothing soiled by Bensyn's blood; leather gloves, a dark hoody and the quiet shoes, she risked the obviously blood drench trousers on her escape back down 604 Hutchison.

She was either teasing them or didn't care by leaving her clothing.

The 604 Hutchison had forty floors, it was two a.m and no one saw her enter or leave.

The buildings security detail that consisted of twelve night men that never heard or saw a thing, because unfortunately for the NYPD, it was poker night in 604 Hutchison and they where otherwise distracted, but the many security cameras caught her.

Cate entered and exited out of the buildings cafeteria on the ground level, out the kitchen, down the alleyway and into the night. Leaving a faint trail that dissipated into a nearby street, she faded into darkness again.

The various camera images of her before and after her task, had been printed, blown up and tacked next to the hand drawn sketch by Mickey Blue on the board at the SVU station.

It was now one p.m the same day, Nadia and Andrew had just returned from the various stores that carried the same type of clothing Cate Monty had discarded. The first six had been a bust, where as the seventh provided insight.

"Oh yeah, she came in hear about two months ago. The store owner/manger answered pointing at the sketch, "Real nice too."

"How so?" A curious Andrew questioned with notepad in hand.

"Just polite, made a little small talk, paid for her stuff and left."

"What did you two talk about?" Nadia picked up cue from Andrew.

"General stuff, the weather, the city, she said _it_ hadn't changed much."

Nadia nodded, "Did she say where she was coming from?"

He shook his head.

"What'd she buy?" Andrew prompted.

"Two hoody's."

"How'd she pay?" Nadia leered.

"Cash, she in some kind of trouble?" He asked as the two detectives said thanks and started to leave.

"We're all in some kind of trouble." Andrew replied over his shoulder.

They later tracked down the store that sold her the specially made shoes and leather gloves in a specialty item shop in Chinatown. The owner wasn't to much help either, but also said she was very polite and respectful.

_Great. Where tacking a 'nice' killer. _ Nadia thought gloomily.

The two detectives reported back to Cragen, drearily wandered into the lunchroom and drudged out two cups of lukewarm coffee, before returning two their own desks to seep through the stacked paper work.

Three days passed, full of dead leads, look-a-likes and press silence, until Vince Connors shattered it.

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Damien Burroughs delivered.

He had gotten everything attainable about Cate Monty.

She was born Catherine Ballenger, the at Christopher Mercury's Hospital, in Brash, New Mexico, on November the eleventh, 1967.

Grew up an army brat, moved from base to base, both overseas and domestic.

Has two sisters, both married with children, one in Louisiana, the other in California.

Briefly modeled, then had a very short lived career in the military, as a field medic.

Was dishonorably discharged under classified reasons.

Went back to school after her discharge in '91, graduated from NYU with a teaching degree in advanced Mathematics four years later.

Started teaching at Johnson High in Queens in '95. Married the young Judge Franklin Monty six months later, then had a twin boy and girl; Michael and Michelle.

Then in '99 she snapped, as the police report stated, murdering both her children then mutilating herself and setting their home on fire, with her in it.

But she lived.

She was found criminally sane and sentenced to life in prison without parole.

On the prison transport she escaped, jumped off a bridge and was presumed dead.

She obviously wasn't.

Then there was the story she told the police, the court and press; a group of people did this to her and her children.

_It was bullshit, had to be._

Then the names of the people she had already slaughtered other than his father; Jack Kershaw, Mark Garston and Christopher Harris.

A rapist, a child molester and a drug dealer.

_Trash._

They meant nothing to Vince Connors, he had never even heard of them. They where shit to begin with. He applauded Cate for killing the fucks, especially the baby rapper and rapist.

But how where they connected to his father?

_Shit, how do they fit?_

Vince knew what his father was capable of, but if this _bitch_, thought for a minute that his father would ever kill a child or its mother….

…_shit she's crazier then I thought. She's really fucked-up in the head. _

Bensyn Connors was no saint, a gun runner and massive drug lord, but he never went after families, Connors's policy.

Then there was her widower husband, Frankie Monty. He really was no saint, shifty and buyable judge, forced to resign after the trial and disappeared into reclusion.

He remarried rather quickly, apparently to his last secretary.

_Has a wandering dick. _Vince realized, he didn't care much if you cheated on a girlfriend, but a wife. He took marriage very seriously, those vows just weren't said, they had a purpose and meaning behind them.

So, Cate disappears for six years then magically returns.

_Where did she go? And why return now? _

Vince needed more answers and the only place to look for them now was at the Frankie Monty residence.

_Have nice little chat._

They arrived nearly ten minutes ago at Chase Apartments Penthouse level, room 24C.

Vince Connors, Damien Burroughs, Manuel Montero and Jina Farlane didn't bother knocking on the penthouse door, hardly, Jina picked the lock and in they slipped.

It was two a.m and Monty's like most of the city, where asleep.

Jina found the child Terry, Lily Horne-Monty's son from another relationship, nestled into his bed, a small bear clutched in his small hand. No need to wake him in the matter they where here for, but they needed to know where he was.

Jina slipped away from his bedroom and nodded to her employer and to her other two _co-workers_.

They conducted themselves in silence as they moved about the apartment, searching for the master bedroom; Manuel found it and glanced to the others.

Both Jina and Manuel clamped gloved hands over each mouth of the sleeping couple and edged a Glock at each of their temples.

The swift stirring subsided almost immediately due to the cold barrels, but a soft whimper was emitted from Lily, it was stanched when Manuel pressed the barrel harder to her skull.

Nothing occurred for at least sixty seconds; Vince wanted them to stew some. Then he quietly walked over to Lily's side of the bed and clicked the lamp on her nightstand on.

The pale yellow light dimly lit the room and he clasped his gloved hands together at his waist and stared down at Lily, her face flushed with fear at his eye contact.

Constant thoughts of Terry flooded her mind and panic gripped at her insides.

"I'm sure your wondering about your son, Terry isn't it?" Her eyes lit up even brighter when he mentioned her son's name.

"He's fine, Jina checked on him not," he spread his hands to emphasize, "five minutes ago. He won't be harmed I assure you. But I can't say the same thing about you or your husband." Vince said in intimidating tone, with no bluff.

"Your both going to corporate though, aren't you? Because I believe neither one of you wants Terry to be the one to find you with bullet in each of your skulls tomorrow morning do you?" They both respectively shook their heads, Lily was crying in silent sobs.

"Right after his morning cartoons…He could come bounding in here and be greeted by the smells of blood, gun smoke and shit."

Now he was being cruel, "Hop on to your bed and find rigor mortis instead of his mother and stepfather. Wind-up being raised by the state, be educated by therapy and live in orphanages until he was eighteen and then maybe commit suicide because of the scene he could possibly see here. No, you don't want that do you? Neither of you do, right?"

They both shook their heads in unison again.

Vince nodded, "Good. That's very good, we're all on the same page. Great. Now here's what's going to happen now. We are all going to go into your living room, quietly, I don't want to wake little Terry up, and we are going to have a nice talk." Vince clasped his hands together again.

"Manuel and Jina are going to remove their hands from your mouths and if either of you scream or speak at all, I will not hesitate to drill your fuckin' skulls. Understand me?"

They both nodded again.

"Good. Then you're both going to march slowly into the living room, each of you escorted by Jina and Manuel. If you try anything I will drill your fuckin' skull. Still understand me?"

Lily felt another rush tears, Frankie was having trouble breathing, he tried to keep calm, then they nodded again.

Vince smiled wickedly and gestured to both Jina and Manuel to remove their hands.

Everything went just as Vince wanted it, neither one spoke or whimpered or attempted to run or fight back as they moved to the living room.

_Smart couple. _Vince observed.

Now they where all in the living room, Lily and Frankie seated separately on the couch, Jina stood in the hallway leading to Terry's room in case he woke up, Manuel stood behind the couch to watch the couple and Vince was seated comfortably on a plush arm chair crossed legged, Damien at his side.

"I'm going to ask the questions and you're going to answer Mr. Monty. Don't lie to me either, because I'll know if you are." Vince pointed at him, Frankie nodded understanding.

"You're going to tell me about Cate Monty, your so called dead wife."

Frankie's eyes widen with fear, _First those cops now this…_

"What do your want to know?"

"Was she insane when she killed your children?"

"I believe so, she wouldn't have done that otherwise."

"Did you ever even suspect she'd do something like that?"

"No. Never."

"Postpartum?"

"No, I don't believe so. She was fine and just snapped."

Vince nodded intently; staring hard into Frankie's terrified eyes.

"Do you know Jack Kershaw, also known as Jack Olen?"

"No."

"James Gibson aka Christopher Harris?"

"No."

"Mark Garston?"

"No."

"Bensyn Connors?"

Frankie looked visibly shaken now at the mention of his fathers' name.

"Not personally, no."

Vince nodded.

"Have you seen Cate alive lately?"

"No, she's dead."

"Sorry, Mr. Monty, Cate's not dead. She's killed four people."

Frankie shook his head, "No. She's dead. Some cops where here a few days ago asking about her, I told them the same thing, she's dead."

Vince was getting pissed now over his denial, stood, pulling his own Glock out and pointed it to Frankie's forehead. Lily stifled a near scream and clutched her chest as Frankie pissed himself on the couch, staring up the cold, hard, unforgiving barrel.

"I'm starting to lose my patience, Mr. Monty." Vince hissed as the dark urine pattered softly onto the white carpet.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" Frankie begged quietly.

"Those cops, what did they want?"

"In-information about Cate. I cou-couldn't help them!"

"Are you lying to me?"

"No."

"What about her story?"

"What story?"

"Mother-fucker, do not pull my dick!"

"I'm not!"

"Cate's statement."

"What about it?"

"Did you believe it?"

"No—I don't know."

"What do you mean you _don't know_? Do you mean that you don't think she was capable of murdering your children?"

"I don't know."

"Earlier you said she wouldn't have done that in less she was insane."

"Yes!"

"So do you still believe she did it?"

"Yes!"

"So you don't believe her story about a group of people binding and torturing them, then burning them alive?"

"No. I wanted too, but couldn't!" Frankie was crying now.

Vince nodded allowing his hackles to drop, he didn't know anything, either that or he was too stupid to know the truth or perhaps was an impeccable actor or liar.

"All right." Vince murmured, holstering his Glock then patted the sobbing Frankie on the shoulder.

"I believe you, for now. But if you're lying to me I'll find out. I suggest you take your wife and her son and leave the city till this blows over. Go wherever you want, hide wherever you want, even if you're lying. Doesn't matter, I'll find you. Understand me?"

Frankie nodded.

"Good. Have a nice evening. Oh yes, I forgot to introduce myself, Vince Connors." He stuck his right hand out in a formal handshake.

Tear streaked and terrified Frankie took it, shaking as well as he could.

"This probably goes without saying, but just so were clear, we where never here. We never had this chat and you've never seen us before. Understand?"

They both nodded.

"Excellent. Again have a nice evening and a safe trip." Vince said with impeccable manners, then he and his group left without saying anything else. Jina even re-locked the door for them from the other side.

Within twenty minutes the Monty's where packed and fleeing the city, Terry wailing in the back seat because he didn't know why.

Frankie Monty's conscience was full of guilt and fear that night, did lie to Vince Connors, he knew that Cate didn't kill their children; he knew she could never do that.

He knew the truth; his family was attacked by a group of people as his punishment for a court related blackmail that went wrong.

He had to live with that for the rest of his life.

But he hadn't know Cate was alive, he sincerely thought she was dead.

Now they drove dangerously, away from Vince, away from Cate and from the city that threaten to shallow them whole.

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A hospital discharged Petra Ramirez softly knocked on ADA Casey Novak's office door late Friday evening.

"It's open." Casey called with the soft rasp always in her voice.

Petra timidly opened her door and closed it behind her quietly.

Casey did a double take, then abruptly stood at her desk, pushing her chair back roughly.

She had kept up with Petra's status ever since she left the hospital, some eight days ago, but didn't dare intervene when the US Embassy finally located her parents in Japan, where they soon rushed back to the States to be with their daughter.

_Petra would be fine then, she had her family and that emotional support to help her cope. _

Casey knew that and prayed she would be, she took her quiet leave but monitored Petra's status from afar.

Petra's honey glow had fully returned to her soft skin, a light bruise remained at her temple, Casey didn't remember that injury. She couldn't see her wrists; Petra was enveloped in a blue mesh hoody. Her hair was soft and bright to match her personality that filled her office and Casey could feel it, Petra didn't radiate rage, but a sense of peace, although it was cracked, Casey felt that imbalance.

"When I woke up, the nurses and doctors told me about this woman who kept vigil for me. This lawyer." Petra began with no introduction.

"That she was at the elevator in some building I've never heard of and helped me to a couch that I have no memory of. She checked on me constantly while I was in insensitive care and later in recovery." Casey felt a tightness in her throat as she listened; it matched the waiver in Petra's voice.

"That she talked to me and held my hand…" Petra looked down briefly and quickly wiped a tear way, then locked her eyes with Casey again, "She—she whispered to me that I was _safe now_, that he—that—that _fuck_," Petra added at her own accord, "could _never _hurt me or anyone else _ever again_…"

Petra sobbed heavily at her last statement, and then continued.

"I heard everything she said to me…Like she was guiding me back from..." Casey couldn't take it any more, she sprinted around her desk and embraced Petra who was now in tears, as was Casey.

Casey recalled that wretched night, when the paramedics had pulled her away she was still speaking calmly to Petra, hoping to _help,_ to _effect, _to cause an_ impact_.

Casey realized she had.

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The Thirtieth Day

August 22, 2005 Monday

Cragen uttered a swift 'shit' and harshly returned the cord phone to its cradle, rushed out of his office and snatched the remote on the copier counter to turn on the television hoisted in the corner of the squad room.

Flipped to channel six and launched the volume.

"…_I want to thank the people of this great city for their overwhelming support and the many vigils held for myself and my family in this time of personal tragedy." _

It was Vince Connors.

Yesterday it was announced that Bensyn Connors had been murdered. It was huge news in New York City, front page headlines, the topic of morning radio shows and the subject of numerous average citizens' conversations.

This was a well known, very powerful, rumored drug and crime lord; _murdered_.

He had the city in his pocket, at most times.

He was charitable and had won the hearts of many citizens.

But he was two-sided, most people knew that also.

Various people had attempted to destroy him over the years and failed every time.

Now the most common question in pubic was; "Who dun it?"

Who's destroyed this so called untouchable juggernaut?

Who had the _balls_?

"_I have recently learned by my own sources in the NYPD, that my father was murdered by an allegedly deceased woman," _

"Oh shit." Fin and Olivia said at the same time, the entire room had stopped functioning and watched the screen.

"_Her name is Cate Monty. She not only murdered her own children, but three other individuals before she killed my father." _He held up that police sketch of Monty.

Cragen felt strained and rubbed his temples, _How'd he get that? Who's the leak?_

"_The NYPD have yet to apprehend this woman. At this time I want to announce the one million dollar bounty I am placing on Cate Monty's head; she's wanted dead or alive." _

The room was in uproar. Everyone started to talk very quickly and franticly. This would only make matters worse.

"Anyone with a pocket knife is going to be looking for her." Fin hissed as Cragen shut the television off, Vince couldn't say anything worse than that.

That bounty was illegal, the NYPD would retract it soon, but didn't matter now, it was already out there and with the economy today….

…_people can't get that desperate, hell, people are that desperate…_Cragen thought to himself.

"Fuck! This is just fuckin' beautiful!" Elliot cursed heavily, snapping the pen in his hand spraying he lower half of his shirt and dyeing his palms in an odd pattern. He cursed again; lower this time at his own stupidity.

"A mill….." Munch thought aloud Fin shot him a 'yeah, right' look.

"This is insane, how can he do that?" Andrew questioned to anyone who cared to answer.

"It doesn't matter. It's happened." Cragen said mournfully, just then his desk phone started to ring, slightly louder than usual. He knew that was impossible though, the Brass upstairs, he knew that for certain was on the opposite end of the line.

Cragen sighed and went to face the heat.

(End F-7 Chapter Six)

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Please review! I really need some!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

A/N: This is one of my favorite chappies! I also forgot to mention in the Chapter One Author Note, that this story is going to have a supernatural taste sort of, just a tad, little tinge, hardly even noticeable. Just a weird stuff, an odd sort feel to it…yeah.

Well, we are finally going to jump into that action/adventure, first bit of it.

Anyway, on with the show!

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Precisely thirty-six minutes after Vince Connors announced the one million dollar bounty he placed upon Cate Monty's head; dead or alive, the Chief of Detectives held a public conference with the press.

She renounced and did not recognize the bounty and anyone who attempted to partake in the illegal activity would be arrested immediately and charged to the fullest.

In place of the bounty, a NYPD reward was offered to anyone who had information that would lead to Cate Monty's arrest, ten thousand dollars.

The Chief of Detectives also in a less than polite manner, asked Vince Connors to retract his bounty, publicly.

He refused; she had him arrested on site.

He was arrested for public endangerment and the possibility to insight a riot. She knew it wouldn't last; her real desire was to make an example.

Sofia who had been watching the entire time, immediately called their best lawyer.

He was too be released within the hour. He had a private car waiting out back the precinct and was escorted out by four uniforms and Detective John Munch.

Vince Connors stepped over the gritty threshold of the back exit into a side alley, inhaled un-fresh but free air and smiled to himself.

John rolled his eyes.

The passenger side door of the black Crown Vic opened and a behemoth in a tailored suit opened the back passenger door for Vince.

Vince gestured for his lawyer to be seated before him, while he reached into the breast pocket of his trench to the pack of Harts, produced the last fag, the cheap lighter and the forgotten lottery ticket.

He lit up and fingered the ticket.

"Tell me Detective, do you believe in luck?"

John nearly scoffed, but crossed his arms and decided to play his game.

"I won a few games of chance, but no, not really. I believe in _karma_."

Vince glanced at him when he said 'karma', the fag poised between his index and middle.

"Karma? You think it was _karma_ that killed my father?"

"You said it, I didn't." Was John's cynical response.

Vince felt his throat constrict and the hair-like hackles on the back of his neck rise in a flush of anger.

But he held back and exhaled another plume of smoke that hung like an aura around him in the quiet alley.

Vince had reached his objective for the day; entice the city into doing his work, he didn't want a physical confrontation at the moment either so chose to let John's comment slide, but he would be watching him.

All of them.

"Right now I think you need all the luck you can get," he offered the ticket to John, he didn't know why but he took it, "see you in the funny papers."

He finished the fag, dropped it and stomped it, knowing fully well he broke the littering law.

Vince didn't care, he owned this city now.

He slipped into the Crown Vic and slowly drove away.

John glared at the flat butt on the stained concrete near a blackened splotch of gum.

What ever Monty was, what ever she was after, what ever she wanted to prove…It was big, she was moving up to the hitters of crime…

…_What are you playing at?_

She wasn't done yet either, he knew that.

Monty was going to keep killing and even the most elite couldn't find her, he seriously doubted average citizens could.

Just what this city needs, everyday Joe's and Jane's mutating overnight into bounty hunters and vigilantes.

_As if the city wasn't dangerous enough without the gun-toting rouges with greed in their eyes. _

_Greed…_

He glanced at the ticket again.

42772.

Lottery announcement was Thursday, today was Monday.

John shrugged and slipped it into his worn billfold.

Greed _consumes_…

Greed _destroys_…

_Where does Cate fall in those categories…Consuming? Or destroying?_

_Does she even care about money?_

_What did she want?_

_What drove her? _

_Insanity or revenge?_

Did he really care?

Or did he just want to find her?

He didn't know anymore.

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It was 10:06 pm.

"Do you want a bag for that?" The Maxine Convenience Store cashier asked the short haired bleach blonde woman with the blue ring of bruise around her left eye and scratches at her temple, as he gestured to the bag of green apples and raw rice on the counter.

"No, I'll just put them in my bag." She replied and stepped aside so the next customer could be helped.

She unzipped the dark sling backpack and carefully loaded her apples and rice; she moved the scarf around her neck so it wouldn't get caught in the strap and head toward the front exit.

Then lingered a moment at the news rack next to the exit, reading headlines about the Bensyn Connors murder and his killer Cate Monty, she shrugged at the police sketch.

The customer behind her finished paying and walked out the exit, the door chimed quietly, then quietly chimed again as a new customer walked in and observed the store.

It was a young teenager, fifteen maybe, with messed-up brown hair and wore an unzipped hoody.

The blonde watched him sharply, she knew what was about to happen. When the young man seemed satisfied with what he saw; a lone cashier, and two other customers he stated his purpose of why he was there.

He tore the .thirty-eight from its concealment in his hoody, "You know what this. Everybody down, now! But you!" He pointed at cashier who had his hands up.

"Load up that bag," he pointed the .thirty-eight at a dirty tote hanging behind the cashier, "with everything you've got from the register, now!"

The other customer, another woman with dark red hair, dropped to her knees sobbing for her life.

The bleach blonde did not.

The robber turned to her, "You fuckin' deaf? I said get on the floor!" He turned the .thirty-eight sideways, as if to emphasize his point.

The bleach blonde held her hands up, narrowed her eyes at the gun and realized he left the safety on.

_That was stupid, _she thought calmly.

She knew she had a shot; she moved faster then anyone the young man had seen. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and yanked his body hard. He pulled the trigger in reaction and earned nothing but a click. She brought her left knee up and connected it with his crotch.

He screamed.

He fell to his knees releasing the .thirty-eight into her welcoming grasp.

She hadn't even broken a sweat as she stood over him, clicked the safety off and chambered a new round in case and caught the ejected bullet in her free hand, gripping the virgin shell, tightly.

One of stitches woven into the knuckled flesh of her right hand had split as gripped the .thirty-eight's hilt. Soft crimson streaks ran down her fist and along the inside her slender coat covered arm.

"Call the cops." She murmured over her shoulder to the cashier who was slowly coming out of his shock, the other customer had scooted up against a display, watching the entire scene play out.

"For future reference, that you should never use, always make sure the safety is off when you hold a place up." She started calmly; the young robber still clutched his throbbing crotch and looked at her in utter fear.

_What's she gonna do… _

"But you're never going to hold a place up ever again, are you?"

He shook his head and the cashier finished the call.

"How old are you?"

"Six—six-teen." He quivered.

"Six-teen. That's a good age. The final defining age between childhood and adulthood, where you start your final stage of maturing into a young-adult. Are you in school?"

He nodded again.

"What are your grades like? And don't lie to me."

"C's and D's…" He whispered.

She nodded then her eyes lingered down to his colored shoes laces, an obvious sign of gang affiliation.

"You know what today is?" She leveled his gun at him.

He shook his head.

"Today is the day you finally take control of your life and take responsibility for what you've done. You're going to be arrested and face the charges and serve whatever sanction the city bestows upon you. Most likely community service and your going to do it, understand?"

She spoke so calm and it scared it him, he nodded again.

"Then you're going to clean up. Drop out of your gang and focus on school, you should be making A's and applying yourself. Then schedule permitting, you're going to get yourself a job, part-time so you can still focus on your studies. Still with me?"

He nodded again, the pain in his groin numbed now due of fear.

"Good, do you have a wallet on you?"

Another nod.

"Give it to me, slowly."

Carefully he lifted his hips slowly and reached into his back pocket, producing a white embroidered black wallet and offered it to her.

The blonde took it with two fingers, the others palming the bullet, flipped it open with fluid digits searching for his identification card.

'Edward Sauls', it read on a Johnson High School id card.

"Johnson High," her eyes lingered to Edward's face, "I used to teach there. Is Jeremiah Sauls your older brother?"

Edward turned even more terrified, _She knows Jeremiah…What kind of shit did I get myself into?_

He nodded again and ignored the tear running down his face.

"Well, I know who you are, I know your family and I will be checking in on you to make sure you've done what I've asked. Understand me?"

Edward nodded again and the police sirens wailed down the street.

She smiled softly, took a step back and clicked the safety back on the .thirty-eight, then carefully laid it on the cashier counter leaving small traces of her blood, along with discharged bullet.

"Where's your back door?"

The cashier placidly pointed to the side hall down the counter.

"Mind if I use it?" She asked politely.

"No."

"Thanks." She turned and swiftly walked away, her scarf catching on a near by display and revealed her neck, exposing the massive burn tissue.

She gently un-hung it as the sirens became louder and replaced it, slipping out the back door just as the police cars came to a screech out side the Maxine Convenience Store.

"My God…" the cashier whispered as he connected the blondes' burn tissue in his mind's eye, then looked towards the news stand at the police sketch.

"That's Cate Monty."

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In every organization, in every business, in every family there are 'leaks'. You know the sort of people who tell the real story, who give away the ending, who gossip and rumor. And if you have enough money or possess something of terrific value, you can get the real story, before everyone else does.

In the NYPD there are leaks and two days after the announcement of the Connors bounty, then the taboo placed on it, more secrets where revealed to the press and public about Cate Monty.

That she killed a rapist and saved his last victim from further torment and violation, the young and vulnerable Petra Ramirez.

That disgusting breed of _human_, fleshy trash, disgusting bipeds, world hated and society spit upon…_rapists_…Who'd miss him?

Then she killed a child molester and rescued his last victim from further destruction and loss of innocence, the sweet child Nathan Thorne.

An even _lower_ form of human, thieves of innocence, decaying scabs, deeper then filth, the shit on our shoes can gain more respect then they can…_child molesters_…one less predator to our _future_…

That she killed a drug dealer, the twisted wraith that addicts our children and taints our society, carries his dirty needles, crack pipes, dime bags and abnormally grown grass and distributes them among our citizens.

One less tooth decaying in the mouth of New York City and everyone _hates_ toothaches, don't they?

Then her most recent murder, the infamous drug lord and gun-runner, the untouchable juggernaut, _less corruption_, a plus.

The city had started to form mixed reviews about her, some named her a psychotic murder and others dubbed her an omen vigilante.

Next came the stories, everyone seemed to have a tale of this vigilante or murder it was really a matter of opinion of what to label her, of how she did this deed or that one.

How she stopped a rapist in an alleyway from taking another mind and body.

Then cut a man out of his jammed seatbelt in an over turned car that exploded only seconds after they stumbled away.

Been on the subways at all the right times.

Halted numerous convince shop robberies.

Saved various people form this fate or that one….

Only half of them where true, had to be. No one can always be there to save the day.

News of the vigilante/murder had spread all over the city, in to the greater Tri-State area and the adjoining states. It gave people a sense of hope. Someone was taking action. Someone was doing what a badge couldn't.

Who said that all the hero's are dead?

But did she _want_ to be a hero?

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The Fifteenth Day

August 24, 2005 Wednesday

The days following the announcement of the Connors bounty, then retraction, was absolute hell for the detectives of SVU, who were still in charge of the whole Monty investigation.

There were hundreds of false tips and leads and several arrests of people attempting to participate in the bounty hunt.

Where as Cate Monty herself seemed to stop her murders, the last confirmed sighting of her at the attempted Maxine Convince Store robbery. She apparently changed her look some, cutting her long brown hair short to her shoulders and bleaching it a near white.

The new images of her spread among the patrol officers and adjoining precincts.

Still no avail, until the timid Guadalupe Diaz and the remorseful Jonathan Walker walked into the busy SUV station.

The station was in an insane state even at six am, people rushing here and there, storming down halls, answering phone calls on Monty tips, taking statements from so called witnesses and booking bounty hunters.

The two quietly approached the front desk, an obviously fatigued account officer stood at the high desk, his head propped up by his free hand while the other continued to etch on a forum.

"Can I help you?" He asked wearily, not focusing on them entirely.

"We believe we have some information leading to the capture of Cate Monty." Guadalupe Diaz whispered, it didn't frazzle the officer at all, he had heard the same time over and over the last few days.

He pulled a forum of a nearby rack, slipped it to a clipboard and handed her a pen.

"Fill this out and bring it back."

An hour nearly passed after she completed the task, the two where about to give up, they must have made a mistake, when a very attractive middle aged female detective called their number while stifling a yawn.

"I'm Detective Benson," she started as she led them through the busy station and mazes of various desks, where other everyday people where giving statements about Cate Monty.

"So, tell me your story." She murmured after stealing an unoccupied chair from a nearby desk for Jonathan Walker.

"Well, ok. Jonathan and I are neighbors in Harlem. Both our children are in high school and were failing algebra. I was at the end of my rope, my son had been suspended again. I have six children and it's difficult to monitor them all and juggle two jobs. Anyway, I met this woman on the subway, she had a these math papers and was grading them," Guadalupe twisted her fingers nervously.

"I never do this, but I asked her if she was a teacher, I don't know why. Because it's the subway, who talks to strangers? She kind of laughed and said she was at one time."

Olivia stiffened some, that matched so far with Cate Monty's history and Edward Sauls account or it could be a fluke, she swigged some of her lukewarm coffee.

"It was around two in the morning too, it was just me, her and someone creep at the end of the car. Then I mentioned my son was failing algebra and was most likely going to be held back, I never finished high school and my husband is working most of the time…" She trailed off, ashamed of her situation.

"She offered me her services, she said she was a math tutor, even offered to take payment in installments, gave me a number to be reached at if I wanted her help and left. After a few days of thought, I decided to call her and she started to tutor him. She had such a dramatic effect on him. He started passing, became more respectful to me and my husband, and just — just turned his life around."

Guadalupe paused to breath again.

"I recommend her to Jonathan, his daughter was struggling with her math too. She turned her around too. Soon enough she was tutoring most of the teenagers in our building in the down stairs lobby. Then she had to quit recently, she didn't say why. That was nearly ten days ago. Then I saw her photo, well everywhere. I just couldn't believe it. She seemed so normal and average. I hope I'm wrong and that I've made a mistake." She finished her account and looked expectantly at Olivia.

"What did she say her name was?" Olivia asked, a snip of hope building in her, perhaps this was the break they were looking for.

"Catie Ballenger."

_Oh shit…oh shit…oh-holy-shit…Her real name. It was never released to the press, this may be the real McCoy. _

Olivia tried to control her emotions and not give anything away.

"Do you have her address?" Olivia asked hopefully.

Guadalupe shook her head, "Just the phone number she gave me."

"I'm going to need that." Olivia readied her pen.

Guadalupe rattled it off, she had a look of remorse on her face; what had she done doing this?

Olivia noted it, "You both did the right thing coming to us. She shouldn't be doing this, don't feel any regret. If this leads to her arrest you both will receive the offered reward."

They both nodded, but the money didn't seem important to them, at least not the money in question, the two readied themselves to leave, then Jonathan turned to Olivia, "If it's any consolation or consideration…she's changed our lives and by God I hope we're wrong."

Olivia nodded, "For the sake of the rest of the city, I hope your not."

The two took their leave and Olivia bolted from her chair once they were out of sight, the number locked in her grasp, down the crowed hallway leading to her Captain's office, didn't even bother knocking and instead slung the door open.

"Please come in," Cragen said dryly at her outburst, thankfully his office was empty and it looked like he was about to pass out from the paperwork on his desk and needed the distraction.

"I've got her!" Olivia clutched the paper as if it was a trophy severed head and had an excited look in her eye.

"How's this lead different from all the others?" He asked depressingly.

"They gave me her name!"

"Everyone knows it now."

"No, Catie Ballenger."

He nodded understanding, but not fully convinced.

"What else?"

"Guadalupe Diaz and Jonathan Walker, Monty was tutoring their children. She was a math teacher—then—think about that kid's statement," she racked her brain for his name,

"Sauls, Edward Sauls. Have you ever seen a juvenile turn around that quickly? It matches, it has to be her." Olivia was passionate about her findings, dramatically so, she wanted to believe it so badly.

Cragen thoughtfully interlaced his hands together on propped elbows on his desk and looked out his office window to a nearby building.

"Do you have a location?"

"Just a phone number."

He nodded, "Run a trace and then head over to the location with Elliot. We don't have enough for an arrest warrant, because you know it may not even be her, if it is don't let her leave and I'll have a warrant made up for you. It may be nothing but wear vests."

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The phone trace led to the address forty-six twelve Berenger, in the lower south-west slums of the city.

An area deserted of most human life, several condemned buildings, graffiti laced walls, glittery train tracks, garbage fluttered around the walkways and few vehicles were parked along the sidewalk.

Elliot parked near the train-track intersection and the two stepped out of the unmarked, vests strapped beneath their jackets and surveyed the area.

There was so little human movement, it caused a chill to run up Olivia's spine, she thought about her two concealed firearms, some comfort.

"Guess this is the place," Elliot clipped his chin toward the iron gated walk that led to a meek and decaying apartment building.

Then they heard it, laughter, it was hoarse and rumbled and echoed from a chain-smoked throat.

Someone was laughing at them; the partners sought the larynx and found her.

An old woman was sitting on a stoop on the opposite side of the street, behind the train tracks, she had pale coarse hair that fluttered at its own desire, wrinkled ebony skin, slacked breasts underneath a faded dress and she gripped a fine white-boned and tarnished cane that was poised between her loose knees.

She continued to laugh at the two. Debris fluttered nearby.

"You find something funny?" Elliot called before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, you two! You ain't gonna stop her, don't you know that? She's sent by God to do what you can't, but what you dream of. " She laughed even more.

The two looked at each other warily.

"Excuse me?" Elliot called in hesitance, then approached her, the train came out of nowhere and screamed down the intersections' dividing tracks, forcing Elliot to take a step back.

_What the fuck! Where'd that come from? _

There had been no warning, no bell or horn. Even over the roar of the train they could hear that wicked laugh, then as quickly as the train came, it faded down the tracks.

The old woman was gone from the stoop, as if she had never been there.

_She just went inside, yeah that's it. _Olivia tried to comfort herself.

"This place gives me the creeps." She whispered to her partner.

"Tell me about it." He shook off the feeling and forced the wicked laugh to purge itself from his mind and turned back to forty-six twelve Berenger.

The two entered and passed the rusted and black paint-chipped iron gate that was sun warm, up the crumbling concrete steps, to the ajar door leading into the apartment building to find an empty lobby, thick with the smell of incense and the sound of a running television somewhere.

No one was at the front desk to greet them.

"Hello?" Elliot called, tapping the rusted and silver bell on the worn desk, nothing changed, the television continued to fade in and out of reception as they walked around the deserted lobby.

No manger or desk keeper or even a doorman greeted the bell or Elliot's call.

Olivia didn't like this at all, she could tell by Elliot's body language he felt the same way.

"Think they knew we were coming?" Olivia thought out loud.

Elliot shrugged and noted the damaged floor lift with an 'out of order' sign written on a cardboard box flap, "I don't know, unless their all vigilantes or murders?"

Olivia had enough, she stepped around the desk and noted a half eaten sandwich with dark lettuce edges, runny cheese, various condiments and chucked ham. Small flies darted around the feast; she wisped them away with her hand, natural human reaction. They only returned after she stopped moving her hand one was even caught in the watery mustard.

Then she noticed the aqua blue-colored ashtray with a partially smoked joint in, it was still burning next to a smoldering cone of incense.

_Have to tell Narcotics about that…Shame on you…_

She flipped around the stacked papers, junk mail, building requests, a parking ticket, a fade copy of The Times, a dog-eared porn magazine, then avail, the building register.

Olivia flipped through the yellowing pages searching for her name and room; Elliot scanned the row of building mailboxes, the ceiling fan slowly circulated overhead churning the strong incense and weak marijuana.

"She doesn't have a box or she's here under a different name." Elliot reported then walked over to her, the television reception continuing to change with his every step.

"Found her, its spelt differently though, Kathryne Ballingir." She indicated to the blue ink written name.

"Apartment five-B." She added as the two headed toward the dimly lit stairwell, they walked two flights in the slight humidly and musk to level B.

Down the long hallway, counting the room numbers as they went by, someone was cooking cabrito, a dog yapped at their steps in another room and a radio hummed somewhere else.

Five-B.

Elliot instinctively placed his hand on the butt of his Glock then pounded the door, Olivia felt herself reaching for her own weapon.

The soft patter of feet could be heard and the sound of a tea-kettle hissing, then it was stanched.

Now the foot falls changed in the direction of the door.

_This is it, she was going to open that door. Can't breath…_Olivia felt adrenaline course through her body, then the urge to vomit. She stifled it.

There was a soft click and rattling of chain locks before the door opened, politely.

Cate Monty.

Burn tissue exposed for all to see.

In the flesh, face to face, she didn't seem scared or flushed by them at all.

Soft facial features, except for the fading purple ring around her left eye and finger nail scratches at her temple, magnified by the recently bleached blonde hair.

Purple and blue knuckles, even some split flesh at her joints, crisscrossed shut with small dissolvable stitches.

She _made_ them immediately.

"Do you have a warrant for my arrest or a warrant for anything?" She asked politely.

"No, but we can get one." Elliot hissed hackles up, fist clenched on the hilt of his holstered gun.

"Well, you can do that. But I won't be here when you get back." Cate replied, un-hostilely.

"We'll wait with you." Olivia grasped her cell phone and dialed for Cragen, reported the positive ID, requested back up and the warrant.

Cate nodded, "Want to wait inside, then?" She swung the door open as if they where guests, totally unafraid of them.

That made Elliot very edgy and Olivia nervous.

_She knew we where coming…She's prepared…_The voices of intuition and survival whispered in Olivia's mind.

Cate backed away from the door to create space for them to enter.

"I don't suppose either of you will take tea if I offer it?" She sided stepped to the opened kitchen.

Barefoot and tall she moved the dented kettle aside and carefully added the small ground leaves to the boiled water.

"No, we'd prefer that you would just come and sit in the living room." Elliot said sternly, she was going to run or pull something he knew it.

"This is my apartment you have no warrant, yet. So I can do whatever I want." She replied in a teacher like tone, her back still to them, mixing the kettle's contents.

"Just a request, we'd be all the more lenient if you corporate." Elliot added.

She huffed, "_Just a request_, I know that and you do know you can't arrest a dead woman, right?"

It happened, what the two partners feared most in this dangerous situation happened.

She was so quick Elliot managed to only pull his gun out halfway from its holster and fired prematurely into the sheet rocked wall in front of the kitchen, before the small dart pierced him at the soft hollow of his throat. He was immobilized, immediately and collapsed onto the finely swept floor, paralyzed.

_She threw it with her hand._ He couldn't believe it.

Olivia watched Elliot fall as she tore her own gun from its holster, leveled it at Cate who was readying another dart with her name on it, squeezed the trigger, only to hear a click that echoed throughout the room. It was loudest sound Olivia ever heard.

Her gun misfired.

Before she could pull the trigger again and discharge the sterile shell, she felt the dart drill into the flesh at the joint of her jaw and lower right ear. A tingling feeling spread up her face and down her body at electrocuting speed, her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the floor, useless.

Nothing happened for a moment as Cate stepped over the two, still conscious but paralyzed detectives and shut her apartment door.

Cate dragged the two officers to more comfortable positions and removed the darts.

They where both alert and could hear her, but had no control of their bodies; they were both sacred, she could see that.

Cate Monty's grotesque crime scenes started tearing through their minds.

Would they be flayed alive like Jack Kershaw?

Where their skulls going be gouged open like Mark Garston?

Where their stomachs going be pulverized like Christopher Harris?

Or maybe they would be lacerated beyond recognition like Bensyn Connors?

They didn't know and they where totally at Cate Monty's mercy.

"The agent on these darts is perfectly harmless. It will purge itself fully from your bodies the next time you pass waste. It will wear off in twenty minutes or so and cause no permanent damage, I assure you both. I have no intention of killing either of you so stop looking so scared." Now she was moving about the apartment loading up a black duffle with various items and slipped some shoes on.

She was at her door about to leave within minutes when Elliot started to regain control of his mouth and vocal cords.

"Wait," he called to her, it sounded muffled and distorted, but she knew what he said, Cate paused at the door and looked back at him.

"Why are you doing this?" He was getting stronger now and was able to flex some fingers.

"Exacting my vengeance?"

He nodded, awkwardly.

"They murdered my children, then destroyed me and so I'll kill them. Two wrongs do make a right."

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"Hey, Munch, I'm making a coffee run, wanna come with me?" The slightly tired Nadia Sands asked her seasoned counterpart.

"What's wrong with ours?" John said over a yawn and recapped his pen finishing another report on a bust Monty tip.

"Moretti finished the last of it, we have no singles or crystals left in the station. I thought about chewing the filter but then thought better of it."

"What, you're not going to make the run with Gage?"

"He went to meet a source."

"Fin?"

"He still interviewing."

"Elliot? Olivia?"

"What the hell, Munch! Their on a lead. Do you not want to be scene in public with me?" She asked sarcastically, clutching her average chest.

Munch rolled his eyes stood up and slipped his jacket back on from the back of his chair.

"Yeah, that's it. You take orders?"

"Yep, only a few though. I ain't waitressing for everybody, but I will grab some crystals on the way. But you know, I just needed some real coffee." She shrugged.

"Where'd you have in mind?"

"This lil'coffee shop on tenth and Harper, Benny's. Know it?"

He shook his head as the two walked out of the crowed and humming station toward the open street.

"Can we walk to this joint?" John questioned.

"Yeah, it's not too far." She replied as the two started to walk east.

After a few moments of silence John decided to tease her a bit.

"So, what's _building jumping_?" He asked still focusing on the course he was walking.

She huffed, "Stabler told ya, huh."

"Yep. What is it?"

"The name's kind of self-explanatory, jump from building top to building top."

"Ok. Why on _earth_ would you be doing that?"

She shrugged her head to the side and stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets.

"Practice."

"Practice?" He was taken aback some, "Practice for what?"

"Hell, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Probably right, but try me anyway."

"I wasn't always a cop."

"Yeah, me neither."

She nodded, knowing he wasn't taking her to seriously, "I mean I use to be on the other side of the law, you know, the wrong side, but never in America. Except for the two cars I stole when I was sixteen."

"Ok, I'm still listening."

"I was an art thief, ok."

He paused, "An art thief?" He'd decided to play with this a bit more.

"Why'd you quit?"

"I was caught, after four major heists. My partner soled me out and I served the time. After I got out I decided to call it quits, but not till I got him back."

"You're serious." John said locking eyes with her.

Nadia looked back at him, they were both nearly at eye level, John an inch or so taller.

"Dead serious, I come from a family of thieves, all since retired."

"So, why are you with Special Victims? You seem more suited to Robbery."

She nodded, "That's where I've been trying to get reassigned. I left Narcotics on a bad note, a bust gone terribly wrong and I had been thinking about a transfer for a while. No spots where opened in Robbery, but one in SVU or Vice and I wasn't going to play hooker either."

John smiled, "But you'd be so good at it." He said it before he could stop himself.

_Nice move. Do you want a sexual harassment suit slapped on you? She knows I was kidding, right?_

Nadia smiled at his comment as they crossed the street, "I was never much of a call girl, even when I was playing thief."

John nodded, _Good, not offended._

"So, an art thief and car thief. What else can you do?"

She shrugged some, "Hustle, count cards, pick locks, hotwire, rig most games and pick pockets. General thievery."

"Pick pocket?

"Yeah."

"Could you pick mine?"

"Is that a proposition?" She asked modestly, with fake innocence.

It wasn't, but he chose to play along.

John rolled his eyes again, _Maybe she can't be offended._

"Oh yes. Big proposition." John waved both his hands sarcastically.

Nadia smirked, "Yeah, I'll pick your pocket and I really mean take your wallet," she emphasized, "the next day or so. Give you a chance to forget it."

"I look forward to it." He said politely as they reached their destination, he opened the small coffee shop glass door for her.

"Bet you do." She smirked walking in first.

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"My Gat-damned toaster oven! Who shot my Gat-damned toaster oven!"

The voice was muffled and pissed as it passed up though the floor.

Elliot slowly regained control his lower limbs as he noted where his bullet had gone.

There was medium sized blast in the sheet rock in front of the open kitchen leading to the man made projectile forced downward into the apartment below.

_Countless days in the practice range and I kill a toaster oven, _he thought depressingly.

"Olivia, how are…Can you feel anything yet?" Elliot asked wearily cupping her face and gripped shoulder with his what little coordination he had.

"Yeah, I can feel my face and some of my right arm." She flexed her fingers as proof, "What she hit us with?"

"I don't know, it's not lethal, at least not yet," he muttered as he pulled out his radio and called for ambulance, they could already hear the sirens of the back up they called earlier.

"I'm going to so kick her ass for this." Olivia said off the record, then she eyed her gun, lying discarded on the floor, she could see the safety was off, but it still misfired.

Elliot chuckled at her change of mood, "Yeah, get in line."

The situation was more embarrassing then anything.

Two professional police detectives with at least twenty years worth of law enforcement between them, they had seen things from the bizarre to the heinous, to the dangerous and intense. Then a whack-job vigilante with no shoes on paralyzes them both with darts she threw with her hand.

And they were armed.

Elliot moved both legs still sitting and then made the decision to try to stand; he gripped the edge of the couch then forced his feet beneath him and pushed hard.

Olivia watched intently as he found his footing, and awkwardly coordinated as he knelt and fumbled for his gun, clicked the safety back on then holstered it.

Olivia felt her own strength returning and decided to attempt to stand too, to be independent once more.

She struggled and could hear their back up storming up the stairwell, bit hard forcing herself up, a little too quickly, she lost her footing and Elliot caught her quickly.

"Careful." He pushed his statement, gripping her upper torso, gently.

"I got it." She placed a hand against his Kevlar protected chest, a signal for him to let go, he did just as the SWAT team battery-rammed the apartment door open and stormed in with assault rifles and full, black combat gear on into the small apartment.

"She's gone." They said in unison.

The few SWAT team members that could actually fit into the pathetically small apartment lowered their hackles and the leader called the place clear after a quick sweep.

Cragen entered, blazer removed with his own vest on.

Pissed too.

"What happened?"

"She…darted us." Elliot started, slightly embarrassed by his vocabulary choice for the immobilization.

"Darted? She did what?" Cragen's eyes bore into his two subordinates

"After I made the call, she invited us in. We both had our guard up while we watched her. I've never seen anyone move that fast in my life. She didn't have anything in her hand then she did, darts with some kind of paralyzing agent. She got us both. She said it was harmless and would wear off in twenty minutes and left." Olivia answered obviously embarrassed by the entire thing.

Cragen was dumbstruck.

He was about to snap, they could both see it, he took a deep breath to composed himself.

They had been _so_ close.

"I want a full report from both of you, before you two clock out. Right now get down stairs, greet that bus and get checked out." He waved them off and clicked his own radio requesting a CSU team.

They nodded and about to start their walk of embarrassment.

Olivia finally managed to pick up her sidearm to investigate it as she and Elliot made their way out of the apartment.

She removed the clip and pulled the chamber to eject the faulty bullet.

She noticed the firing pin indentation in the bullet's primer, felt another chill run up her spine, it should have fired.

_Why didn't it fire? _

"_You ain't gonna stop her, don't you know that? She's sent by God to do what you can't, but what you dream of."   
_

The old woman's words echoed in her mind as she stared at the bullet's clearly indent primer.

_Could be a dud, faulty primer. You've seen those before. One in every box… _

"_She's sent by God…"_

Olivia tried to push the disturbing and confusing thoughts from her mind, palming the cold copper and lead, the bow to the violin of defense and death.

"… _to do what you can't, but what you dream of."_

(End Chapter Seven)

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A/N: Should I keep posting? 'Cause no one is reviewing and it's making me wonder…if you are reading please review and give me some reinforcement. I could really use some.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

Disclaimer 2: The characters Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to Arthur Conan Doyle.

Disclaimer 3: The character Catwoman belongs to the D.C universe, original creator, company and present owner(s).

Disclaimer 4: CSI belongs to Anthony E. Zuiker and company, as does the character Sara Sidle.

A/N: I own a couple of chickens…that's my fortune.

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"Hey guys, me and the boys are going to go to Vasquez's after hours to play _darts_, wanna come?" Detective Antonio Moretti laughed full hearted at the recently hospital released officers; Olivia and Elliot as they walked into the squad room.

The two locked eyes briefly, communicating with expressions, then both shot Moretti the finger and a harsh, "Fuck you." In unison.

Moretti laughed it off as the two made their way to their desks and start to write up the report on what happened at Monty's apartment.

Jude Hospital was busy as usual when the two detectives arrived by ambulance, later given a clean bill of health after various tests, blood work and urine just to name a few.

The drug in their systems was poison extracted from a certain type of puffer fish found in the Pacific Ocean. Perfectly harmless and would cause no permanent damage just as Cate Monty assured them.

Later the doctor had private conference with Olivia, very discretely so her partner wouldn't notice. But Elliot did notice her change in mood later that day; worry.

When he asked about it she shrugged it off on the case. He had a strong feeling she was only partly telling him the truth, but choose not to push it.

Olivia's desk phone rang while she was typing up the Monty report, "Special Victims, this is Benson," Elliot cut his eyes at her while he was typing up his own version of the events at forty-six twelve Berenger.

"Alright, thanks I'll be down in a minute." Olivia hung up and saved her report, "That was Rosarian, he's finished examining my gun and I'm going to run and pick it up. Wanna come with?" She asked knowing Elliot's eyes where on her from his side the desk.

"Do you want me too?"

She shrugged slipping on her jacket, "It's no biggie. Just a run down stairs."

Elliot paused thoughtfully; he knew something was bothering her, but he would close himself off to her too, _When she's ready she'll tell me…or I'll just pester her about it later._

"Naw, I'm almost finished with this." He turned back to the digital screen.

"'K." Olivia murmured and headed toward the elevators.

After a short elevator ride and various comments from other officers about darts she finally arrived at the ballistics lab.

"Hey Detective," Rosarian called with half a bear claw caught in his mouth, only it sounded more muffled and food coated.

Olivia pocketed her hands and thrust her chin in a 'what's up' gesture and approached his lab area, "Tell me something good, Rosie." She teased his name and he rolled his eyes at her.

"Be nice and maybe I will." He smiled taking a swig of fresh coffee, "Yours is the .three fifty-seven Glock right?" He asked shifting carefully through various weapons, both legal and illegal, both evidence and maintenance.

"Yeah, I just dropped it off." She said in false surprise, "Falling down on the job, Rosie."

"At least I didn't get darted."

Olivia was taken aback, "That was low. Does everybody know?"

"No, there's some rookie in the twenty-third precinct who doesn't." He chuckled and lifted the tagged black .three fifty-seven, carefully, first rule of gun safety, treat every gun like it's loaded.

"Truce, ok." Rosarian added feeling the embarrassed and slightly pissed tension seeping from Olivia; he laid the empty clip next to him on the table and pulled the chamber back to make sure it wasn't loaded.

"Ok, I ran ever test on your piece that I know, fired nearly ten rounds threw the barrel, took it apart, its very clean I must add," he complimented looking into her lovely eyes, she nodded as thanks, "and tested the firing pin. There's nothing wrong with it. I don't why it misfired, but it shouldn't have."

Rosarian looked up at her over his black rimmed glasses, "The shell had a bad primer then?" Olivia deduced.

He tilted his head slightly, "That's what I thought at first too, so I ran in though the test .three fifty-seven here, hid behind my little shield and let her rip." He started as hopped of his stool and wandered over to another area of the lab and picked up an evidenced bag and tossed it to her.

Olivia caught it and broke the seal pulling out the copper shell with gun powder burns at the edges, it had fired. She noted the two distinct pin marks on the primer now, one hers the other from the test gun.

"Olivia, the primer was fine. I don't why your gun didn't fire, it should have. " He was at a loss for an explanation and spread his arms in a stupefied manner.

She looked up at him and shrugged at the evidenced, not sure what to believe.

"They say everyone has a bullet out there with their name on it…This one wasn't hers." He tried to console somewhat, the police myth didn't comfort much.

She didn't reply and looked back down at the bizarre omen, the twisted fluke.

"Thanks, Rosarian. Can I keep this?" She gestured at the bag.

"Yeah."

Olivia smiled but her heart wasn't in it and reloaded the empty clip into her side arm, then left.

"_You ain't gonna stop her, don't you know that? She's sent by God to do what you can't, but what you dream of."_

The old woman's words were haunting as she stepped into the elevator, the wicked laugh echoed in her mind.

_Next time…_Olivia thought head strong.

_Next time._

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Captain Donald Cragen carefully read Elliot's account of the events at Cate Monty's apartment, closed it, then began on Olivia's version.

The two reports were virtually identical he noticed as he closed Olivia's report, leaned back in his chair and eyed the empty wall before him.

CSU didn't find anything of use at Cate Monty's apartment, it was fairly a below average apartment to begin with. Cheap toiletries, low cost foods; rice mainly, no clothing, or weapons other than the two kitchen knives and one was a butter knife, no reading material and no sign or indication of who she was going after next.

_She has another place. _Cragen knew it; _She has a back up pad somewhere else._

She wasn't coming back to forty-six twelve Berenger, but just in case, surveillance was in place at the slum.

Statements and accounts had been taken at forty-six twelve Berenger from the other building's tenants, everyone said the same thing; that she was very nice and respectful, kept to herself mostly….

…_their all playing dumb._ Cragen felt for sure that was the situation.

Didn't matter now, she was gone again, out there somewhere in the city. Cragen got up and walked over to his window, viewing part of the setting sun behind a nearby building.

_She was waiting, healing, stalking…_

How many more people was she going to kill?

Cragen recalled those disturbing words from Elliot's report when he asked her why she was doing this.

"_They murdered my children, then destroyed me and so I'll kill them. Two wrongs do make a right."_

How many people had been involved in this so called murder?

How many people would actually be needed to murder two small children and nearly kill a woman?

If what Cate claimed was true.

They had been so close today.

More tips where filtering in as he stood there, staring at the glowing sky through the mini-blinds, more eye witness accounts and bounty hunters being booked for participating in illegal activities.

While Cate Monty roamed free.

Cragen leaned forward some against the blinds; they creased against his forehead as he shut his eyes.

_I need some sleep. _

He swallowed and leaned back focusing on the darkening sky, _What's sleep?_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Olivia rubbed her eyes wearily; it was now ten p.m in the station the same day she and Elliot had been, well, darted.

Elliot was down in lock-up talking to some person who claimed had he shot Cate Monty in a shoot out on the north subway while he was attempting to apprehend her, illegally.

If he did shoot her, that remained to be seen, but he did mange to shatter some fluorescents attached to the ceiling of the subway port and launch a fire extinguisher with a bullet into an adjoining tile wall, what a mess. Thankfully no one was seriously hurt, just a few surface cuts from the falling glass and flying tile.

Olivia chewed on her lip and glanced at the evidence bag with the fired shell in it, it still bothered her. She focused back on the computer screen running more background checks on the deceased, Jack Kershaw, Mark Garston, Christopher Harris and Benysn Connors.

Looking for some sort connection, some name or names that connected them all, hell a fraternity would have worked, something they where all apart of.

John yawned, removed his shaded glasses and rubbed his eyes near by.

Fin coughed then cleared his throat as he read over another report about Cate Monty.

Andrew was on with another lead with Nadia and Cragen was dealing with various authority figures in his office, they where all burning the midnight oil tonight. Along with other detectives too, in their precinct and connecting others, all coordinating to capture public enemy number one.

Olivia finally discarded Mark Garston from her search, he didn't have any other felonies on his record other than the three counts of child molestation and he never even had a late movie rental or overdue book.

He wasn't connected to the bigger picture, he wasn't apart of Cate Monty's revenge.

She focused on the other three names, the ones she was ninety-nine percent sure where premeditated, the murders with the calling cards, 'ITS JUST BUSSINESS', written in blood.

'Jack Kershaw, known affiliations: Bale Braddock, Anita Garcia, Lengsfield Philips and Nick Hebel.'

Olivia read the screen again, wiped her eyes as they blurred some, she looked at the screen once more, she had looked his file up a few days ago and there was another name listed under the affiliations.

She was sure of.

Olivia opened another window and brought up Christopher Harris file.

'Christopher Harris, known affiliations: Kim Ong, Lengsfield Philips.'

She read it again; _This file has been tampered with._

_Lengsfield Philips, ok, he appears on both flies, but there was another name here, I know it._

Olivia opened another window for Benysn Connors; he had huge slue of affiliations, but no mention of Lengsfield Philips, Harris or Kershaw.

She leaned back, racking her brain for that name she had noted on both Harris's and Kershaw's file, it had been deleted, she was sure of it.

Olivia closed all the windows and opened another typing in Lengsfield Philips; it gave her the sign for searching. She picked up a pen and began to finger it as she waited.

FILE NOT FOUND, flashed on the screen.

_Bullshit._

Someone was covering their tracks, _What was that name…Jon…Jon something._

Olivia twirled the pen again.

_Jon Rans, no…Jon Rams...no that's not it…Jon Risce…like that…Rice! That's it Jon Rice! _

She typed the name quickly…searching…she felt a rush of anticipation, _That was it, has to be._

FILE….the screen went black, along with the rest of the station.

"Oh what the hell?" Fin hissed as his laptop shut down, the room's power shut off, the only light coming from the glass windows and red EXIT signs around the squad room.

"Ok, everyone stay calm." John voiced, Olivia looked out the window just to the power in the next building disappear like a candles flame.

Olivia felt a choke in her throat, the power was disappearing around the city, this meant only one of two things, it was a power outage/surge or that the city was under attack.

Her cell rang just then as Cragen was talking to the group of detectives in the dimly red EXIT sign lit up squad room.

"Benson,"

"_Do you have power over there?"_

It was Elliot.

"No."

"_Shit, I'm stuck in an elevator." _

"Well, try to stay calm."

"_I am calm!"_

Olivia had to hold her mouth to stop the near giggle.

Just as Elliot was about retaliate again about her comment the lights in room flickered and came on. Olivia squinted her eyes so they could readjust and listened to the hum of computers rebooting around the office.

"_See you in a minute." _ Elliot hung up.

Olivia shrugged and put her phone back her pocket as Cragen was saying various instructions and slipped back into office to answer his ringing desk phone.

Elliot arrived placing a hand on Olivia's back, "I was calm."

She cut her eyes at him and sat further back at her desk chair waiting for the computer to finish rebooting.

"Did our _Gunslinger_ know anything useful?" She asked as the screen went though a color test, then various diagnostics.

"No, he gave us a urine sample from a few hours ago, he had a lot of heroin in his system. He probably saw the Lee Harvey Oswald and the second gunmen while he was shooting at city property."

Olivia nodded, cutting her eyes discreetly at the fired shell casing, then back at Elliot.

"You find anything?" He questioned.

She paused, "Yeah, sort of." Olivia leaned in, drawing Elliot in from his own desk, "I think someone been tampering with the files." She whispered.

"Careful, someone might think you've been hanging around with John too long." He replied with a slight smirk.

"I heard that." John voiced from across the room, Elliot shrugged at him then turned back to Olivia, "What makes you think that?"

Olivia realized he was now taking her seriously, "Before the blackout I noticed some of the files had been tampered with, Jack Kershaw and Christopher Harris."

Elliot nodded.

"One of the known affiliations had been deleted from both of them, it was listed a few a days ago, I know it. Then some other files can't be found."

Elliot nodded understanding, "We can get Chastity to check it out."

Chastity Cherri Chambers, ex-prostitute turned computer genius and hacker extraordinaire.

_Her parents must have hated her naming her something like that and_ _then she turned into a hooker, talk about irony._ Olivia thought the first time meeting Chastity.

But one thing was certain, Chastity knew her stuff and if someone had been tampering with the system, she'd find them; she'd find everything they had done too.

"The black out was only in the twenty-third block of the city." John announced as his police radio clicked with static.

Cragen stepped hostilely out of his office just then attracting the attention of everyone in the room, "You two and you two." He pointed to John and Fin, then Olivia and Elliot, "Get to 701 Blue Crest Apartment building, Monty's fifth victim is there."

_That's in the twenty-third block,_ Olivia realized.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"ITS JUST BUSSINESS"

The declaration of another one of Cate Monty's calling cards stood out the most at the newest murder scene.

It was obscure, but Fin read it clearly, the statement seemed louder this time, bolder.

_Maybe because it's written on a mirror, _he observed.

It was streaky and agitated just like all the others but this one seemed…

…_like she took more pleasure in it._

The electrical odor and smell of blood was very strong in the indoor hot tub room but wasn't anything like the Bensyn Connors murder scene where blood was everywhere, painted in all the nooks and crannies of that lovely bathroom.

The hot tub room smelled more like an electrician's shop after a burnout; Fin noted the floating stereo in the full hot tub, the cause of the blackout in the twenty-third block of the city.

The stereo cord had been wrenched out of its socket in the tiled wall across from the hot tub with a short wooden stool.

_Monty shoved the stool to knock out the cord out, after he had fried to her fullest satisfaction. _

Fin stared at the fully dressed body floating in the hot tub severally lacerated, face up, eyes open and grayed slightly from the water electrocution, his skin was a shinny red and cooked.

"Something smells good." John called as he entered the room.

"You're a sick man, John." Fin replied his eyes never leaving the body.

John didn't reply as he took the scene in, the cooked body, the bloody statement, the stereo floating the water and the smashed sliding glass door behind the hot tub leading out to the roof deck.

"Do we know who he is yet?" Fin asked finally looking away from the red body.

"Penthouse belongs to a Bale Braddock. Olivia nearly choked on her coffee when some beat officer told her that." John began.

Fin looked over at him in confusion, "Don't tell me she dated this guy or something." He gestured at the lobster like bag of flesh.

"What? Why wouldn't she? I bet he was a real looker before Cate flash fried him." John replied sarcastically.

Fin rolled his eyes, "Did she know him or what?"

"No. Not personally, Bale Braddock is listed under Jack Kershaw's known affiliations. A coincidence? I think not." John answered returning to professionalism.

Fin nodded starting to piece together the order of events at the crime scene, moving out of the hot tub room to the living area, "Ok, Cate entered through the front door…"

"Looks like it, the door knobbed was recently picked."

"Attacks Braddock in the living room, over turning the arm chair, then flipped him into that glass coffee table."

"Explains all the blood from there to here."

"Continued the fight through that glass door over there," Fin moved toward the door, John nearby. They walked though the broken sliding glass door leading out to the rooftop pool.

"Braddock most likely pushed Cate though it judging from all the black fibers on the glass, they look consistent with one of her hoodys." John pointed out.

"Rolled around a bit," Fin voiced gesturing at the scattered glass and blood smears on the tiled walkway near the pool.

"The fight became vertical again, someone was smashed up against the wall," John pointed at the massive blood smear on the penthouse wall, it was broad.

"Probably Braddock judging by the width of the smear, can we get a picture of this, please?" Fin called to the nearest CSU photographer who quietly approached and photographed the bloody wall.

John followed more blood streaks and footprints as the walkway turned some around the penthouse leading to another broken sidling glass door, bloody hand prints here and there and slathered along the rooftop handrail.

"I wager my dear Watson that Cate pushed Braddock through this glass door." John folded his arms across his chest looking expectant at Fin as he stood in front of the other shattered sliding glass door leading to the opposite side of the hot tub room.

"No, shit Sherlock." Fin voiced in false admiration.

John shot him the finger and entered the though shattered door, "Shoved him the full hot tub, kicked the stereo in, turning him into bar-barbecue."

Fin paused, "Well, it's not like he just sat there and waited for her to fry him." He moved in and crouched behind Bale Braddock's partially submerged body and carefully tilted his head forward with blue latex gloved fingers.

"Have you been watching CSI again?" John asked crossing his arms as Fin observed the skull.

"Yeah, that Sara chick is hot." Fin retorted, Braddock had a small crack in the back of his skull, just enough to incapacitate him even for a short period of time.

Fin glanced around the room, searching for the weapon used against his skull then saw it.

A wrenched towel rod was hidden behind a lien closet door. Fin gently rested the head back up against the hot tubs' rim and moved the lien door aside revealing the discarded towel rod.

The rod was bent where it connected with Braddock's skull and had a turned a dark red at one end.

"Whoa, that was anchored in concrete." John observed on the opposite side of Fin as he moved the other side of the folding lien door.

Fin looked up at the damaged concrete; a thick steel anchor was twisted clean off when Cate wrenched the rod off the wall, it protruded uselessly in the tile and concrete.

"Adrenaline, it does charge the body." Fin muttered.

"So does heroin." John replied.

"You think she's a fiend?" Fin questioned standing erect now.

John shrugged, "I don't know, I do know I'm tried."

Fin nodded, he too was feeling the effects of sleep deprivation.

"John? Fin? Where the hell did you two go?" It was Olivia's soft voice from the opposite end of the hot tub room.

"In here." They said in unison.

Olivia approached, careful of the glass and leered around a wall till she found her two counterparts.

"What's up?" Fin questioned as her face scrunched from the pungent aroma.

She waved her hand at her nostrils and finally covered it, she couldn't take the smell anymore, "You two are going to have to see this for yourself." Olivia said quickly and left the room in a rush, nearly gagging.

"You think she's ok? Seems like lately she can smell everything stronger then we can." Fin asked John as they started to step around the large tub.

John shrugged and whispered, "Maybe its PMS or something."

"PMS? PMS does not do that to chicks."

"Ah huh, she's been kind of moody lately too. I'd think I'd know, too. How many times have you been married, again?"

Fin scoffed at him and the conversation ended abruptly when they entered the living room and Elliot motioned for them to follow him into a large bedroom, CSU camera flashes could be seen and harsh voices could be heard.

"That is disgusting."

"Sick fuck."

"I wonder if he was even a registered offender."

"Bastard."

John and Fin entered the massive bedroom to find a few CSU analysts, Olivia and the newly arrived Captain Cragen, they where all grouped around what looked like a trunk.

Cragen turned some when he noted John and Fin and moved aside so they could see.

Child porn.

An entire trunk filled with child pornography, photos, magazines, VHS to DVD.

Fin felt his stomach turn with disgust and John clenched his fists.

"I really hope Monty took some of his teeth." Olivia voiced.

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The Sixteenth Day

August 25, 2005 Thursday

It was 6:45 a.m, the next day, a new day.

A sunny day.

A warm day.

Another day Cate Monty was free.

After last night's crime scene in Bale Braddock's apartment Cragen ordered that everyone to just go home and get some sleep. They couldn't do anything yet until CSU was done analyzing everything they had found in the apartment and M.E Warner was done with Bale Braddock's autopsy.

But they all were pretty sure they knew what had killed him already.

The buzz was incessant and persistent.

_No…Not yet…_

Olivia rolled on to her stomach, shoving her tired head beneath her pillow and flayed her hand at the digital clock/radio.

She clipped one of the buttons with a finger and the alarm switched to a morning radio station.

"…_that's right folks. Cate Monty has struck again. This time she killed some pervert living the rich life with a damn trunk filled with kiddie porn."_

Olivia lifted the pillow off her head some and focused on the conversation, _Shit, how do they know?_ _When I find out whose leaking information… _

"_Sick bastard, Ricky. Cate if you're listening, you did the city a service, again. Thanks."_

"_Sarah, what do you think about Monty?"_

"_I think she's in the wrong, she shouldn't be doing this—"_

"_What? Dude, come on. She's doing what so many people have wanted to do! Hell, she's doing what a badge can't!"_

"_Ricky! Listen to yourself. She's a killer. She's been right so far, but sooner or later she's going to kill someone who didn't do anything."_

"_Ok, we're going to take a short break. If you have something to say about Cate Monty call in. We want to hear it."_

Olivia fumbled against the radio button to shut it off and it switched back to the annoying alarm.

She snapped.

Olivia sat up, jerking the digital/clock radio out of its wall socket, shifting her nightstand violently, dumping various items onto the fine wooden floor; a cheap paperback, a coaster she jacked from a bar, a scribbled memo pad and some pens, then threw annoying device against her bedroom wall. It cracked and split against the uncovered red brick, then crashed to the floor, a mesh of broken circuits and plastic components.

She collapsed back against her mattress, "I can't keep this up." She murmured rubbing her face and ran a hand through her hair while staring up at her bedroom ceiling. Then she noticed for the first time the yellowing stain, there was a leak up there, somewhere.

She'd have to tell the super about it.

Just then her cell phone rang; Olivia cut her eyes at the dratted device that managed to stay on the now crooked nightstand and had a quick vision of her liberating her life of the dreaded machine by throwing it against the bedroom brick wall.

Olivia smiled at the thought then shook it off answering her cell, "Benson,"

She sounded groggy and slightly pissed.

"_Whoa, did you wake up in someone else's bed?"_

It was Elliot.

Olivia smiled at his attempt at John Munch like humor, "I was wondering where this third arm came from?"

Elliot chuckled at her reply, _"Are you dressed for work?"_

"No. And why do you sound so cheery? How much sleep did you get last night?"

"_You mean this morning?"_ He corrected, _"Probably the same as you but I made some of my famous Marine coffee to wake me up on this lovely morning. It also gets oil stains off of concrete. I got a full thermos with your name on it."_

She laid there for a moment, allowing his words to register in her mind, "Elliot, where are you?"

"_Outside your apartment door now get up and open it for me." _

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut when he said that.

"I gave you a key." She mumbled they went through that partner bonding-like ritual some years ago exchanging keys, just in case, a way of sealing the promise that one always had the others back.

"_It's in my other pants. Now get up and open the door for me."_

"How do you know I'm lying down?"

"_I heard you kill your clock/radio."_

Olivia rolled her eyes, tossing her sheets and finally stood wearing faded green plaid pajamas bottoms and a thoroughly worn tank top, clothing of total comfort, "See you in a minute." She said before he could answer, ending the call and tossing her cell on the very messed up bed.

She stumbled out of her bedroom, rubbing her face and started working on the locks on her apartment door and swung it open for her partner.

"Whoa, you look like shit." Olivia observed taking the thermos from him; Elliot had soft purple circles around his eyes and a shadowy look to his overall appearance.

"So do you." Elliot replied stepping in to her apartment as Olivia moved aside.

Olivia rolled her eyes and headed to her kitchen to grab two ceramic coffee cups.

"Did you hear about our rookies?" Elliot voiced as he removed his jacket and took a seat on the end of her couch.

"No. What's happened?" She asked in genuine concern as she returned to the living room with two ceramic cups and the thermos tucked under her arm.

Elliot took the cups from her as she sat down, "Last night_—_this morning they where side-swiped by a meat truck, totaled the unmarked."

"Screw the unmarked. Are they ok?"

Elliot nodded pouring her a cup of coffee, "Yeah, all the airbags deployed. Nadia has this real big cut on her temple and popped her shoulder out of place and Andrew broke his nose."

"Oh, damn. What about the lead?" Olivia asked taking a sip of the still steaming and freshly scented coffee.

"Another bust, I called Chastity a little bit ago about the file system. She said she could come at oh, nine and take a look."

Olivia nodded, "Looks like you've got it all under control."

Elliot noted the subtly in her tone and finally chose to purse whatever was bothering her.

"'Liv, are you ok?"

She looked over at him in question, "Yeah, why?"

"It's just, you seem really worried and kind of _off_ lately."

"It's the case."

"No its not, 'Liv." He said sternly.

"Yes it is, Elliot." She replied in equal stern.

"'Liv,"

Olivia stood up abruptly nearly spilling her coffee, "You want to know what's bothering me?"

"Yes I do." Elliot replied his eyes never leaving hers.

"Cate Monty."

Elliot looked taken aback, he knew that was only part of the equation, _It's a place to start._

"She bothers me too."

"No, Elliot. I don't mean like that." Olivia had now sat her cup down on the peeling wood finish coffee table and began pacing.

"Then what?"

Olivia paused and bit her lip, "She killed Jack Kershaw, a rapist, right," he nodded. "Trash, Elliot, he was scum and you know that as well as I do. Then Garston, a child molester, even lower! Then Harris a drug dealer, fuck him, we could do with out him. Then Connors, a drug lord and gun runner and now Bale Braddock who_—_who I know nothing about but had illegal child pornography in his possession…Elliot_—_she_—_ugh! This is so frustrating!" Olivia gripped her hair and paused.

"Elliot, what if _it's_ true." She said quietly, now she was focusing on a knot in the wood of the coffee table.

"What?" He asked knowing full well what she meant.

"What if they did kill her children? What if_—_maybe she is a _vigilante_. Then that old woman in the slum_—_you heard what she said, 'She sent by God, to do what we can't but what we dream of.' Elliot_—_Ugh!" Olivia felt her mood change dramatically again and tears well in her eyes; Elliot was up abruptly and embraced her.

_Whoa…_Olivia hesitantly embraced him back, feeling childish and odd. They rarely hugged, this was different, new, but she welcomed the contact.

"Olivia, as far as what that woman in the slum said, she was screwing with us. Cate Monty is a _murder_. It maybe true about her family and it might not be. But you know as well as I do that people, ordinary everyday, average people can't take the law into their hands."

Elliot pulled back looking into her deep, dark eyes, "And it's our place to stop her."

She nodded trying to wipe the redness from her eyes, "Now, go take a shower and get dressed. We've got a lot to do today." Elliot felt he brought her back to earth as she walked toward her bathroom without another word, but also knew that she was still hiding something from him. That worry he felt from her yesterday, it wasn't the case and the changes she was going through…

…_it's not just the case…'Liv why won't you talk to me?_

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"What are you doing here?" John called to Nadia as she walked in the squad room with the noticeable stitching at her temple and dark bruising surrounding it.

"It takes more then just a meat truck to stop me." She purred taking her maroon fringe jacket off careful of her sore shoulder and hung it over her desk chair.

"I bet." He replied shifting through some manila folders.

"So, who'd she kill this time?" Nadia questioned sitting slightly on the corner of his desk.

"Monty?"

"No, the Easter Bunny. 'Course Monty, I heard she took another sick pervert out last night and she caused the blackout doing so."

John nodded reaching for his memo pad from the inside of his jacket; he flipped it to the appropriate page, "A Bale Braddock."

Nadia choked.

"Oh what the hell? First Olivia chokes on her coffee when she hears his name and you do it on air! What is with this guy?" John said in disgust as Nadia regained her composure and shook her hand at him.

"Do_—_do you have a picture of him?" She asked over her air sobs and the slight tearing in her eyes.

John moved over to Fin's unoccupied desk and retrieved a manila folder and handed it to her.

She thumbed it and carefully opened it to several color 8x10's of the deceased Bale Braddock.

"Oh dear God. What did she do to him?" Nadia murmured in slight revulsion.

"Water electrocution." John replied, Nadia didn't look up her eyes where locked with the bright red and burnt flesh at Braddock's his collar.

"Told you you'd get yours." She whispered to the photos.

John furrowed his brow in confusion, "You knew this guy? Personally?"

"Yeah, I knew this guy. Have you got the background file on him yet?"

"Yeah, hang on." He shifted his mouse to wake his computer up again and opened the window with Bale Braddock's criminal history.

"Bale Braddock, two DWI's and did some time in Crusoe's Minimum Security Prison for a jewelry theft." John answered.

Nadia shook her head, "Identifying marks?"

John scrolled some, "Yeah a 'blue cougar' tattoo on his back."

Nadia leaned in and looked at the image of the massive tattoo that engulfed his back.

"It's not a cougar it's a puma. That was his handle, The Blue Puma. He was an art thief too, I don't know why that's not listed. You where at his apartment, right?"

John nodded.

"I bet there was a lot of odd paintings and sculptures there?"

John recalled the penthouse and did remember some of that.

"Yeah, come to think of it there was."

"Most of its hot, bet you lunch it is." Nadia wagered.

"You're on. So, what did you like date this guy when you were playing _Catwoman_?"

"Eww, no. Word among the thieves is that he _liked_ children, especially little boys. Didn't you find kiddie porn? I heard that some was found?"

John recalled the trunk filled with the illegal items and felt his stomach roll with disgust.

"Yeah we did…What did you mean earlier 'Told you you'd get yours.'"

Nadia remembered her words, glanced behind her to see how many people were in the office then moved over to the opposite side of John stealing Fin's chair in the process.

She undid a few of the lower buttons on her shirt top, "Am I going to have to pay for this?" John asked with dry humor and a wirily smile, she shot him a death stare and revealed her lower stomach.

Scaring.

Five deep, wavering parallel lines where etched over her lower abdomen.

"God, did you slide on a rake!" He asked in shock as buttoned the top back together.

"You outta see the one on my back. One of the reasons he was called The Blue Puma, he wore these specially made gloves with razors attached to the fingertips." She glazed her fingers over her shirt covered scaring recalling the memory.

"Eastern France spring 'ninety-two, we where both after a certain Faberge Egg. Yadda yadda yadda, a fight ensued. He tore my back and stomach opened and I shot him in the back, shouting at him 'You're going to get yours!' He was a dirty thief, took my egg." Nadia finished as if it was a bar story.

"I never know when you're telling the truth, you know that?" John said in disbelief.

"You're a detective. Run your own little investigation about me, if you don't believe me." She murmured as her partner arrived, Nadia took her leave and greeted an Andrew Gage with a broken nose.

"Maybe I will." John called aloud.

"You do that." She answered across the room as the two rookies left.

"Aw, are you two having a lover's tiff?" Fin asked catching the tail end of the conversation pulling his chair back to his desk.

"No, I reverse all my tiffs for you."

"Oh, that's so touching, thank you." Fin replied in genuine sarcasm, touching his own chest gingerly to emphasize.

John rolled his eyes, the two began to bicker back and forth as Olivia and Elliot arrived and took their own seats at their desks.

They had just returned from the morgue, Bale Braddock's autopsy report still fresh on their minds.

Braddock had lost quite a lot of blood and had several glass lacerations all over his body, two shattered ribs and a crack in the base of his skull, cause of death was water electrocution.

He cooked in his own fluids.

Just like on all the other bodies, Cate Monty left behind DNA, blood and lots of it. CSU found traces of her deep blush all over the penthouse and several thread fibers from her clothing.

It was widely speculated that she was hurt bad this time, maybe even fatally lacerated by all the broken glass. CSU did pick up on her blood trail leading out of the building; she escaped a few floors below the penthouse, down the fire escape of a renovated apartment. The metallic ladder was slick with blood and dark spatters had been found all around the concrete alleyway and faded into the street, where the bloodhounds lost the trail.

No one saw her enter the building or leave it, no security footage of her this time.

She faded away like a ghost again, but had been deeply wounded and maybe even dead this time.

"Hey Detectives." Chastity Cherri Chambers called sweetly as she was escorted by a uniform into the squad room.

Chastity had dyed her hair again since her last visit to the station, that time she was chasing a trojan through Detective Antonio Moretti laptop, it was pale blue then, now it was a near neon green.

"Hey Chasstiityy." Elliot stretched her name as she shook his hand firmly; she always had a strong grip.

"Elliot," she purred and turned to Olivia, "Detective Benson." Chastity always felt a slight tension in the older woman's presence.

Olivia nodded at her, a small smile on her lips, "Miss. Chambers."

"Alright then," Chastity intertwined her fingers then popped her knuckles. "You weren't clear on what you needed….So…" She directed at Elliot.

"I'm the one who needs your services." Olivia cut in.

Chastity turned to her un-phased, "Name it."

"I think someone has been tampering with our criminal files," Olivia started.

"You have to have high verification clearance to do that." Chastity toned before she could stop herself.

Olivia nodded slightly, "Yes, I know that. Just have a look."

Olivia moved out of her seat, Chastity quietly slipped into it and adjusted herself at the laptop keyboard.

She tapped away at the keyboard faster than most, entering the system deeper than anyone in the room could at the speed she was moving.

"What exactly what was tampered with or what file is missing?" Chastity asked still etching at the keyboard quickly glancing up at Olivia.

"Lengsfield Philips."

Chastity involuntarily bit her tongue at the mention of his name, moaned with discomfort and pushed back from the desk cupping her mouth to staunch the blood.

Elliot quickly handed her a tissue and she took it mumbling a distorted thanks.

"Guess you've heard of him." Olivia stated as she stole a nearby chair.

Chastity nodded holding the stained tissue, "Why on earth are you after him?"

"Who is he? I've never heard of him." Elliot directed at Olivia totally ignoring Chastity's last question.

Olivia shrugged, "His file was deleted. But he's someone important isn't he?" Olivia observed from Chastity's reaction.

Chastity nodded then dropped the tissue in her lap and continued to type away at the keyboard, "He's… ah…I know most people think that kingpins like Derek Michaud, Natalie Bonds, Orson Masters and even the late Bensyn Connors look like they run the show, the underground you know." She moved her fingers quickly along the flat keys, pausing at a window; her eyes read it quickly before she bypassed it.

"They supposedly control the money laundering, the prostitution and gambling, the drug flow and illegal weaponry…But it's Lengsfield Philips who's really in control of everything. He even has some cops in his back pocket." She wasn't looking at them now; she skimmed more digital text, slightly perplexed.

"They say he beat a man to death with a dictionary once…Yeah, someone has been in here. Two files have been deleted and forty-six others have been edited." Chastity reported.

"What ones?" Olivia questioned.

Chastity turned back to the screen, "Lengsfield Philips and Jon Rice."

"Can you restore them?" Elliot asked leaning forward at his desk.

Chastity bit her lip, "No. Once their deleted their deleted. I thought there were hard copies of all of these." She gestured at the laptop.

"There are," Elliot nodded. "There just not updated as frequently."

"Can you create a list of the modified files?" Olivia interjected.

Chastity turned back to the screen to fulfill the desired task.

"How is it_—_well you have heard of this guy and we as cops," Elliot gestured to himself and Olivia, "never have. I heard of everyone else you mentioned, but not this Lengsfield Philips guy. Have you met him?"

Chastity continued to type, "My pimp use to whore me out to his number two man, Pedro Mendez. He's dead now, supposedly Lengsfield killed him, cemented his feet in concrete blocks and dumped him off Ellis Island, as the story goes. I don't know why he killed him. But I met him only once, in passing and that was enough."

"There ya go." Chastity completed the list and turned the laptop slightly for Olivia.

She scanned the list recognizing the various names from her pervious search last night and the days prior, each one edited to remove the names Lengsfield Philips and Jon Rice.

_Who are these guys?_ Olivia bore her eyes hard at the screen as if her stare would cause the laptop to regurgitate the answer.

It didn't of course.

"Chastity, could you describe what these guys look like to a sketch artist?" Olivia asked with softness in her voice, turning her head slightly toward Chastity.

"I've never seen Jon Rice, or I have and just don't know it. But when I saw Lengsfield Philips…It was dark and several years ago. I don't know how much I could even tell your artist." Chastity replied.

"Rough idea would work," Elliot murmured picking up his desk phone and dialing, "Hello, Missing Persons please…Hey Jenny…Yeah, oh that's fantastic, glad too hear it's a boy, yeah…Well could you put me though to Mickey Blue? 'K, thanks….Mickey? Hey it's Elliot Stabler. Yeah, I got a job for you, yeah, yeah see you in ten minutes or so. Thanks." Elliot re-cradled the phone, "Can you hang around some, Chastity?"

Chastity smiled lopsided and thumbed a finger against her lips, "Its going to cost ya."

"City taxpayers are already footing your bill." Elliot played back.

"Yeah, for the hacking. _This_ is going to cost you."

"What do you want?" Elliot asked interlacing his hands on his desk. Olivia watched the two in slight flirt; she fought the shred of jealously in her throat.

"Kilroy's Apple Brandy. I need an entire case, I have a Halloween party coming up."

Elliot's head dropped some, "An entire case? You've got to be kidding me."

"You've got connections with Quincy, still. Right?"

"Yeah but, hell you better give us a fantastic rendering." Elliot pointed at her.

She spread her arms and smiled wickedly, "Don't you know I have a photographic memory."

(End Chapter Eight)

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	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

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Reviews: Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

SVU Lover4ever: Thanks dude, that would be my dyslexia rearing its ugly, gnarled head.

Point Of Impact: Thanks for the confidence and reinforcement…and I kind of found out with some help why I don't have very many reviews…but I remedied it. YEAH! I sort of rock!

OrionandSilver: You made my day, dude! Left me a nice, fat, juicy review that I really needed. Monday was a real shitty day for me. You've noticed lots of things, sweet! No, Elliot and Olivia are a no go. The whole 'shred of jealousy' thing, that's just a sort of over protective partner thing. Also the superhuman powers w/ Monty, that's not so true. She normal, not quite average, just really strong and can jump tall buildings and other stuff, she's multitalented. Thanks again!

Wolfwood11: Bless you! Thank you so much for pointing that out to me. I felt like an idiot! I didn't even know the anonymous reviews weren't enabled. Here I am wondering 'What the hell I have over 350 hits and no one is reviewing!' Thanks again, anonymous reviewers feel free to chew me out about it.

Kiki: Thanks!

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A/N: Whoa, this is a long one. Something really important in this chapter, there is a combat scene. I would really appreciate it if ya'll would tell me how clear it is to read.

I mean can you envision the fight, at all. Scale of one to ten should work; one can't see it at all, five I got the idea, ten totally saw it.

Really appreciate it and on with the show!

Also: Remember when I mentioned in the first chapter that this story had some adult themes and really gory stuff? Recall that? Yeah, anyway, you'll get the first small taste of what I meant. Please govern yourselves accordingly. M rating is here for a reason.

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Chastity Cherri Chambers did indeed have a photographic memory or so it appeared that she did. Her description was clear and perfect. Hopefully she was being accurate about Lengsfield Philips appearance. Her memory of him was very aged, nearly eight years old.

Once the rendering was complete Chastity took her leave with Elliot's promise of an entire case of Kilroy's Apple Brandy on her doorstep before Halloween.

_Maybe, depends if it pays off._ Elliot sulked.

Elliot and Olivia where now headed down to the dingy and dry level of the precinct packed with hard copies of every criminal in the Tri-State.

The two split in the large room lit by several fluorescents, one fluttered from white to black, there where file cabinets and case boxes stacked everywhere.

Olivia pulled the cabinet drawer marked 'Pan through Phi' and leafed over the dog-eared manila tabs, while Elliot searched the cabinet drawer next to her 'Ran through Rus'.

Olivia skimmed over the files, then did it again and then once more her frustration fueling.

"It's gone. Yours?"

Elliot leafed once more to make sure, then nodded, "Yeah, someone's been here. Someone's on the inside or we're getting to close."

"Shit." Olivia hissed slamming the file drawer shut, the metallic handle vibrating in her grip, "First we have leak to the press and now this." The stress was bending hard on her.

Elliot nodded closing his drawer quietly, "Chastity did say he has some cops in his back pocket."

Olivia shrugged, "I'll be so glad when this is over." She turned and pressed her back against the unconformable cabinet; it shifted slightly under her weight. Her eyes lingered up at the flickering fluorescent, then down when something shinny caught her eye.

She peered at the small square, a photo caught beneath another file cabinet; Olivia pushed off the cabinet, couching to pick up the photo.

"What you find?" Elliot questioned as she stood, dusting the floor particles and a dust bunny off the slick photo's image.

She stared at the image; shock in her eyes then flipped it over reading the label pasted on the backside:

'Lengsfield Philips 4-16-1992'

"I hope you connections with Quincy are real good." She smiled; the photo was a spiting image of what Chastity described.

"What?" Elliot took the photo and allowed the image to fill his eyes; _She really does have a photographic memory. _

"Well, whoever was here…they left in a real hurry." Elliot murmured.

_The photo must have been slung out of Lengsfield Philips's file. _Elliot thought to himself.

"How do you think he's connected to all of this?" Elliot wondered aloud.

Olivia shrugged, "I don't like to speculate."

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The rest of the day consisted of contacting the individuals of the forty-six edited files and interviewing them about Lengsfield Philips and Jon Rice. The ones that allowed the interviews played dumb, saying they didn't know why either one was listed on their files. Others ignored the officer's request; they didn't have probable cause. Why should they even talk to them?

What was worse, Cragen had to report to his superiors about the deletion and editing of certain files, an internal investigation would be conducted soon.

As for now, they continued their investigation about Cate Monty, cross-referencing, running down more leads and learning whatever they could about Lengsfield Philips and Jon Rice.

One dead end after another and Cate Monty went quiet again, Braddock at the moment her last victim.

"Ugh, Lord." Nadia moaned quietly as she pulled her fringe leather jacket on, her shoulder still ached immensely.

It was a little after midnight and she was throwing the towel in, at least for the day.

She desperately needed some painkillers for her shoulder too, the little kit of pharmaceutical medicines in her in desk just wasn't cutting it; Advil and Ibuprofen just to name a few and that flask filled with her father's homemade moonshine (that could strip primer off a car) wouldn't help her much in this situation. Those prescription painkillers she managed to leave on her bathroom sink would though.

Fin went home nearly twenty minutes ago, just like everyone else, he was totally exhausted.

Cragen was on his way out too but not for a while, he was still dealing with the Chief of Detectives in his office.

Elliot and Olivia walked out of the precinct around the same time Fin did, Nadia couldn't help but think back to earlier in the day when she walked in on Olivia vomiting in the ladies room.

When she asked if there was anything she could do, for example bring her something to settle her stomach Olivia brushed her off, on the verge of snapping at her, Nadia could see it.

Nadia had a fairly stable theory on what was ailing Olivia, but she was going to keep the theory to herself till the appropriate time, like when Olivia came clean about it to the entire squad.

_When is that's going to happen? She's more stubborn than you are._

Then Andrew left not five minutes ago, now he'd had been acting odd all day. She hadn't known him for a long time, four or five weeks now. They had only worked a few cases together, she felt they had a good thing going, but at the same time she didn't fully trust him.

He acted even odder when he got a text message on his personal cell phone; he excused himself for the evening and took off rather quickly.

That left her and John who was coming out of one of the interrogation rooms; he looked exhausted and was carrying several manila folders in the crook of his arm.

Nadia pulled her hair out from under the nape of her jacket, packed up her cell and badge about to leave herself.

"John, I'm headed home. Wanna share a cab?" Nadia called to him readjusting her shoulder holster in the process.

John glanced up at the nearest clock and rubbed his eyes, "Yeah, I can't do much of anything else here." He yawned, clicking his desk light off and slipped his jacket on.

Nadia nodded knowing there was nothing else that could be done this evening, as he followed her to the large elevator.

Nadia pressed the lobby button and stretched some while John leaned against the back elevator wall.

She smiled privately and reached into her back pocket producing a worn billfold. John eyed the billfold tiredly; it seemed oddly familiar then recognized it as his own.

He huffed, "When did you do it?" He asked recalling their conversation on the way to her coffee shop, while she opened the worn wallet.

"A thief never reveals her tactics." She smiled eyeing his driver's license.

"Ok, give it back." John reached for it as she started to rifle through its contents.

She moved to the side some keeping it from his grasp, "I always get to look at what I've stolen. I'll give it back, promise…You're very photogenic." She commented on his various photo ids.

John rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, "Do you always flirt with your co-workers?"

"No, just you." She played back and pulled out the lottery ticket given to him by Vince Connors a few days ago.

"Lotto? I would have never pegged you for a lottery player." She eyed the number then her mouth dropped some.

"I'm not, it's a long story." He didn't want to go into details about his conversation with Vince Connors.

"What's with your jaw?" He questioned as she read the inked number on the paper ticket.

42772.

"Did you pick these numbers?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

"No, I didn't…It was given to me."

She shrugged and slipped the ticket back into its compartment and handed the busting wallet back to him.

"What's so special about the numbers?" He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as he replaced his wallet, this time in his front pocket.

"It's my birth date." Just then the elevator stopped, it had reached its destination.

"Are you for real?" John asked as the two headed out into the darken lobby.

"Yep, scouts honor." She lifted her hand as proof.

"You were in the scouts?" He questioned in total doubt.

"No." She smirked.

He was about to retort when she called out to the night guard seated behind the entrance lobby desk, "Hey, Marley."

"Naidee." He night guard replied looking up from his crossword, she ran over to his large podium desk, wrapped her hands underneath the upper lip of the desk and lifted her legs off the floor in a rush of hyper energy.

"What are you doing!" She called unprofessionally, John come to a stop next to her.

"My dead end job." Marley replied un-frazzled by her burst of energy.

"No. You're going to be moving up soon. I know, it's in the cards, baby."

He shrugged and John watched the playful banter back and fourth.

"So, do you have tonight's lotto numbers?" She purred, John looked over at her hesitant, she ignored his stare.

"Yeah, lost again." He filtered his fingers through a nearby pile of papers; sticky notes, Eugene's Mint Gum wrappers, business cards and other small scraps of paper, until he found the desired rectangle of paper with newly written numbers on it and handed it to her.

Nadia who had already placed both of her feet on the floor again, scanned the rectangle; she refused to let the numbers shock her.

42772.

It was match, John had the winning ticket.

She showed it John who faded from his regular pale to an even whiter shade.

"What is the jackpot tonight?" She asked nonchalantly handing the ticket back to Marley.

"A mill. Some lucky bastard won out there." He muttered dropping the ticket back in the pile of abstract scraps.

"Yeah," Nadia held the back quiver in her voice. "Some lucky bastard."

_Who is standing right next to me. _

John stopped talking, but then again he never started.

"Well, night Marley." She purred taking the dumbstruck John Munch by the arm and herded him toward the lobby exit.

"Night, Naidee." He replied going back to his crossword.

John still hadn't spoken even as Nadia was ranting about how lucky he was and how he had to tell her how he came to possess that ticket.

She tried to hail another cab with her good shoulder and it passed her by again.

"Ass!" She screamed at the taxi's fading taillights.

"One million…" John murmured for the first time since seeing the numbers written on Marley's sterile ticket.

Nadia looked back at the stupefied Detective who was ranting at his own pace on the dark street.

"John." She grabbed him by both wrists to pull him out of his own world, "John!" She said more firmly, he continued to babble, "John Munch!" She nearly screamed shaking his wrists.

"What? What?" He cried at her forcefulness.

"You done?" She asked at his abrupt cease of ranting.

He paused the last few minutes running through his mind, "Why did your friend write down the winning numbers? And is he accurate?"

"It's a habit for him, he's done that the entire time I've known him. Trust me dude, he wrote down the right numbers." She tried to wave down another cab, it passed her again.

"Oh come on!" She yelled at the taxi.

John became very quiet again causing Nadia to look his way, with concern.

"Nadia, don't tell anyone about this." He said very seriously.

She nodded understanding, "I won't, don't worry. Just don't spread around the word around that I was an art thief, 'k."

"I hardly believe that myself. Why would I tell anyone that?" He said before he could stop.

Nadia rolled her eyes and sighed in annoyance, "I did pick your pocket. Shit, you can't even figure out when I did it."

"Sorry." John muttered detecting her annoyance; she hailed a cab once more this time it stopped.

"John, we still have to focus on this case, you know that. I suggest you confirm the numbers for your own curiosity and stick that ticket in a safety deposit box. You have like a week or so to claim the reward." She instructed as she opened the cab door and took her seat on the smooth vinyl.

John followed taking her words seriously; it was the best course of action for his situation.

Everything felt so surreal to him at the moment.

"Where too?"

"Parker Apartments and…." She looked at John expectantly.

"Oh and Brush Apartments." He added.

After a few minutes of silence John decided to tease her again just for the hell of it.

"Is_—_I mean are those numbers really your birth date?" He questioned.

"Yeah."

He did the math quickly in his mind, "Your thirty-three, then."

"You can count." She said sarcastically, smiling in the darkness.

"You look at a lot older than that." He lied in the dark seat, wanting to get a rise out of her.

"Oh, screw you!" She hissed playfully knowing he was kidding and shoved him some.

"Really?" He replied in fake hope.

She rolled her eyes in the darkness, "Don't let all that wealth go to your head, now."

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The same night.

'_Alfreda's, 12:30 tonight. Do not be late_.'

_Oh shit._

Andrew Gage shut his personal flip phone after reading the text message.

He could almost feel Lengsfield Philips rage from emitting from the message.

_He's knows about the sketch and photo._

"I'm gonna call it a night, Nadd." Andrew lied to his partner, Nadia shifted at her desk in the process of filling out her last report; she noticed the slight frailty in his voice.

She nodded covering her mouth to hide the yawn, "'K. Take it easy, partner. See you tomorrow."

_If I live though the night. _

"Yeah, night." He called heading toward the elevator, he pressed the button for the garage contemplating his possible death tonight at Lengsfield Philips hands as the floor numbers fluttered by on the elevator control panel.

He was in a haze when he reached the garage level; he didn't know how long he had stood there in the cage, wasting precious time before the elevator doors closed jarring him back to the present.

He glanced at his watch, 12:12, he was going to have to run some red lights and roll through some stop signs if he wanted to make to Alfreda's on time.

Andrew made a mad dash to his vehicle, an 'eighty-six Dodge Charger, complete with all options for that year and a few surprises under the hood, not quite street legal.

_But who's going to pull me over? _

He exited the garage as quickly as he could, trying to speed up his check out time with the gate guard and managed to drag the back bumper of the Charger on the exit curb, and he wasn't going to stop to check the damage.

The little black Charger tore down busy and empty streets, rolling through stops signs, cutting off other vehicles, passing erratically and tearing by red lights.

He cursed himself for not installing a police light and siren in this vehicle when he took on Lengsfield's latest mission, to infiltrate the Special Victims Unit.

12:24, the digital clock glowed on the vehicles' dash.

_Only a block away…come on!_

He stomped the gas pedal passing through another red light narrowly clipping another vehicle. The other driver leaned on her horn but Andrew didn't look back.

The Charger passed over a high rise in the road and the neon sign for Alfreda's Fine Italian Dinning came into view, some of the letters where fading and others flickered weakly.

He skipped flipping his turn signal on and instead cut off another on-coming car; he earned a disgruntled horn and the screech of the other car's brakes.

Andrew ignored them too.

He parked in the back of the quiet parking lot, rushed from his vehicle, not bothering to lock it and entered through the restaurants' back kitchen door.

The smells of sweet and spicily foods of Italian origin filled his nostrils and caused his mouth to water, it caused him to remember that he and Nadia had skipped lunch, trading it for another bust lead.

"Ah, Jonny-boy! Who hit you?" One of the cooks called to him pointing at his own nose.

Andrew recalled the car accident last night, "Oh, this is nothing. You should have seen the other guy." He lied.

The cook laughed whole heartedly and turned back to the dish he was preparing.

Andrew said his various hellos to other kitchen employees, quickly, trying to gain entry to the private dining room, where he knew Lengsfield Philips was waiting for him.

"Hey, Jonny." A sultry soaked and strong husky voice called to Andrew.

He turned to see Elettra Acardi, Alfreda's head waitress and Andrew's occasional _friend with benefits_.

She seductively winked at him as she clipped another dinning order to the clean carousel.

"Hey." He replied lost in her natural scent and eyes for a moment.

"Do you want an _escort_ to the back room?" She purred.

For a spilt second he thought about saying yes, _escort_ meant a slight detour to the storage room and fucking (quickly) against the hinge damaged door and Elettra always wound up throttling something, probably be the nearest shelf of dried food stuffs next to them, thoroughly shaking the items off the shelves onto the floor, but he didn't have time for that right now.

No matter how enticing the offer.

"I think I know my way."

"Suit yourself and don't be a stranger." She purposely brushed her hand over his crotch while passing out the kitchen doors. He tried his best to stifle the moan that escaped his lips and his body from reacting.

He shoved his libido aside with all the energy he would allow and exited out the side kitchen doors down the lovely lit corridor to the private dinning room.

"Jon." Paris Hart, Lengsfield Philips's bodyguard greeted him outside the private dinning room door.

"Paris." Andrew replied removing his shoulder holstered .three fifty-seven police issue Glock, then his own ankle holstered nine millimeter Beretta, handing them both to Pairs.

He placed them on the short foyer table next to him, Andrew looked at him expectantly.

"What, you're not going to frisk me?" Andrew questioned.

Paris waved his leather gloved hand at him and opened the private dinning room door, "Just go in."

Andrew did as he was instructed and entered the small, one table dinning room.

"Take it my, dear."

"Oh, Lengs, it's too much, I can't."

"Please, you're going to hurt my feelings if you don't." Lengsfield Philips's wrapped his fingers over the ample envelope of what Andrew was certain contained several Benjamin's and pressed it into Alfreda Zunino's palm.

Alfreda nodded, "Thank you so much for this gift. Angela will love it, she'll want to repay you for it, you know that, right."

Lengsfield laughed and nodded, "Yes, I know. She can paint me something, I would love to have one of her paintings."

Alfreda smiled, "I'll see to it that she does." She leaned in and kissed him gingerly on the cheek knowing it was time to take her leave.

"Hello, Jon." She smiled at Andrew and slipped out of the private dinning room, now chatting with Paris quietly on the other side of the door.

Lengsfield Philips leaned back slightly in his chair, eyeing Andrew Gage's broken nose in particular, like an animal about to attack.

Andrew felt naked and vulnerable, especially without his weapons.

Finally Lengsfield gestured for him to have seat at the table.

Once he was seated Lengsfield lifted his chair some and moved it right next to Andrew, he felt edgy as a result.

His superior tugged a briefcase out from under the table and produced a manila folder, laying it on the table still close; the edges touched the half-full bread basket and various spices placed in the middle of the table.

Lengsfield pushed the briefcase back to its original spot and opened the folder.

Andrew felt his heart drop, just as he feared; he eyed the folder's contents, a copy of the photograph Olivia had recovered in the filing room and a copy of Mickey Blue's police sketch.

"Jon…Jon…Jon. Place your hands on top of the table and leave them there…flat."

Andrew felt his throat constrict in fear and a heat in his eyes as he laid his hands flat on the table.

"Do you want to tell me why another one of my police implants had to have an emergency meeting with me a few hours ago and tell me my photo was circulating throughout the NYPD precincts?" Lengsfield asked quickly, grabbing Andrew's crotch in a death grip.

Andrew jerked and nearly kicked the table over, "Keep your hands flat!" Lengsfield hissed squeezing harder.

Andrew did as he ordered, his eyes welling with tears from the excruciating agony.

"I thought you took care of this, Jon."

"I did!" He whispered high.

"Then why is the NYPD looking for me?"

"I don't know!"

"No, I think you do. You had a simple job, get close to the hit, ruin his family and life then kill him, a simple task." He gripped Andrew's crotch harder to emphasize.

Andrew nodded knowing, he was on the verge of begging for mercy.

"I know your situation has changed because Cate Monty is back in the picture and I too am surprised she is still alive," he touched his free hand to his chest, "I expected that Bensyn would have killed her the same with Bale, but no, she killed them both."

Lengsfield tapped the table cloth gingerly with his empty hand.

"I really don't want to bring Anita into this. And I don't think I have too, at least not yet. But when you get Cate Monty in your sights I want you to take her out. And if you have the opportunity to make her suffer, do it slowly. Understand me?"

Andrew nodded his eyes where glazing over and he was about to pass out. Lengsfield released his grip and Andrew sighed massively turning his chair over onto the tile; he curled up on the floor holding his throbbing crotch and floated through skull splitting pain.

"I don't want to have this conversation with you again. If the NYPD finds me I will _end_ you. I want the target ruined and dead and I want Monty dead. Still understand me?"

Andrew could feel the torrent of vomit threatening to expel itself from his body.

"Yes." Andrew replied his vocal chords straining.

"Good. Now get the fuck out of here and carry on with your hits."

Andrew let his harsh words stumble over him as he arched face down on the floor, still holding his crotch. His knees buckled under him as he attempted to stand, he steadied himself on the overturned chair, still cupping his stinging member.

He finally stood awkwardly, limping toward the exit to collect his firearms and to ice his crotch when would finally make it home.

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The Seventeen Day

August 26, 2005 Friday

1:14 am.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Dickie. Why are you up so late?" Elliot asked genuinely over the phone line.

"_Well hello to you too. Its still summer. What's going on up there?" _

"What do you mean?"

"_I heard on the news there's some vigilante or something running around the city." _

Elliot closed his eyes tiredly; he hadn't realized the news of Cate Monty had reached Baltimore. Kathy had taken the kids to visit her parent's summer home for a few weeks while he, continued working.

The divorce counseling had created a shaky, somewhat stable, civil relationship between the divorcees. It was similar to the weather, sometimes clear and breezy, other time's torrent and vicious. But there was progress, sickly and weak, but progress nonetheless.

Right now the relationship was civil and clear at the moment, Elliot was content with that and felt Kathy was too. But he wondered how long it would last.

"Yeah, Dickie. It's a big mess, say is your Mom awake?"

"_Yeah, just a minute…Mom! It's Dad. He wants to talk to you!"_

Elliot could hear his son walk though various parts of the house, he overheard a television, some talking and the voices he recognized as his ex-in-laws and the sound of dishes being clattered around.

It sounded like a party, one he wasn't apart of, he felt a pang of jealously and resentment.

Here he was in the city, in his quiet apartment, alone and missing his children, while searching for a dead woman.

The phone clicked as it was passed around, _"Hello."_

"Hi, Kathy."

"_Elliot, what's wrong? You're ok, right?"_ She could sense imbalance in her ex-husband.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just checking in on you and the kids. Everything going smooth down there?"

"_Yeah, everything's great you know. Lizzie and Dickie found a puppy yesterday and are convinced their going to get to keep it."_

Elliot chuckled at that, "Are you going to let them?"

"_What? Take that little mongrel back to the city where they'll lose interest, then I'll be stuck walking the pup in the middle night scooping up his special brown. I don't think so, so I'm going to talk my Mom and Dad into taking the little mangy mutt in. So they can visit the sucker whenever." _

Elliot nodded, "Sounds like a plan."

"_Elliot, what's wrong? I heard about that Monty woman in the city. What's going on?"_

Elliot was leaning against his apartment wall staring out the window at the light pollution hovering over the city on the bright evening.

"She's…She's really screwed up, Kathy. She's a vigilante or murder I don't know what to call her. But she's taking out people that I have to deal with everyday, rapists to child molesters and even drug dealers. The city is pretty torn about her too, some agree with her others are against her."

Kathy paused, moving a sliding glass door and stepping out on her parent's porch deck, to get some privacy from their kids and her parents.

"_And what do you think? About her I mean." _

Elliot allowed her words to mull over him; he rubbed at his temples with his free hand while watching an airplane's lights fade over the city.

"I don't know, Kathy. I mean I don't know the real situation about her. She claims that her two children where murdered by a group of people and now she's picking their killers off one by one. And I'm trying so hard not to look at this like a father, I don't even know if what she claims it's true."

"_Well, when you catch her you should ask her."_

Elliot had a quick flash to the small conversation he had with Monty back at her apartment and chose no to tell Kathy about it.

"I will."

Kathy nodded to the darken sky over Baltimore, eyeing the only star she could see, _"Are you really ok, Elliot?"_ Sensing there was more to his late night phone call.

"Yeah, yeah. Could you put one of the kids on? I want a report from all of them about your mother's tofu cooking."

Kathy huffed at his comment and allowed him to evade the question, _"It tastes just the same as when you had to eat it."_

Elliot smiled into the receiver, "Thanks, Kathy."

She felt a smile of her own while she slid the glass door back open, _"Maureen, phone call!" _

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1:46 a.m, the same morning.

Cate Monty stretched her back while focusing on the seven-foot tall chain link fence, popping her fingers in the flexible leather gloves and turned her neck both ways.

_No turning back now, get this done right. _

She was alone in the dark alleyway preceding the 647 Richardson building, save for the speckled tabby on a nearby garbage can, the uncountable alley rats and other various night creatures.

She had studied the 647 Richardson blueprints days prior, she saw to it that she knew every nook and cranny of the building.

It was another apartment building, sixty stories high, including basement level and parking garage.

Six levels where being renovated, two where shut down for water maintenance, while the rest where open for business.

Her goal was to reach the penthouse.

_What is with these guys and penthouses? _

She walked up to the seven-foot tall obstacle, took a deep breath and intertwined her fingers around the galvanized steel, shaking the fence thoroughly. The tabby took off at the movement and Cate forced her comfortably bound feet in-between the chain links and started to scale the fence.

She climbed quickly, flipping over the slacked barb-wire strung at the top; someone had scaled this fence before, damaging the sharp wire once stretched taut over the galvanized steel.

Cate released her grip on the wire when she reached a safe dropping distance on the opposite side of the fence. She landed softly on the stained concrete, crouched her knees to absorb the impact.

Her fingers and knuckles hurt from the scale causing her to wonder if she was doing this too soon.

She had sustained several injuries from her encounter with Bale Braddock nearly two days ago; she had several lacerations that had taken most of what dissolvable stitching thread she had left.

Cate shook off the thoughts of turning back so she could heal and recover to one-hundred percent, before going after her next target.

No, she couldn't, she was running out of time, those two detectives had gotten way to close for her comfort.

_I wonder how it will take them to find me again._

She had to move fast if she was going to take out the other six who killed her children and destroyed her, well, it would be five after tonight.

Cate started jogging down the dark alleyway, moving lightly and stealthily, passed more stray animals that dissipated quickly at her presence. The smells of the alleyway changed with every step from common garbage to vegetation rot.

She kept to the shadows when she finally reached the bottom backside of the 647 Richardson; she knelt at the side doors that lead to a large janitorial closet, produced the small, durable lock pick and went to work on the door lock.

The lock finally clicked and she wrapped her hand around the knob, turning it quietly and slipping in the sterile smelling closet.

It was dark but she knew where to walk, thanks to the blueprints committed to memory, she walked straight and slowly, finally exiting the room.

Next she found herself in a dimly corridor which would route to a stairwell leading up.

She took the steps two at time, quiet and lightly, listening for any other movement other than hers in the stairwell.

The first level turned to the fifth, the fifth to the fifth-tenth, the fifth-tenth to the twentieth; she steadied her breathing as she took the stairs at a quick pace, not wanting to be exhausted when she would confront Kim Ong and kill him.

She paused at the thirty-sixth floor, inhaling the thin smell of tobacco, she looked upward while leaning over the stair railing and noted the pale white haze a few floors up.

Someone was grabbing a quick smoke in the stairwell.

Cate waited for what seemed like forever for the smoker to finish, she heard a rattled and gargled cough, the sound of the cigarette being stomped out on the naked stair step, then landing door being opened and closed forcefully.

She waved the odor way from her nostrils; she could feel her own cough coming on from the assaulting aroma.

Cate walked slowly up the stairs now to avoid the possible gag, then quicken her pace when she found her way out of the manufactured smog.

Her journey up the stairwell continued without incident or other obstacle once she reached the top level, the penthouse.

It would be her and Kim Ong's death arena.

Cate paused outside the penthouse door, listening hard through the door for any movement, he was in there, she knew it. Cate had spent the entire day tailing him, stalking him and sizing him up.

Kim hadn't changed much since that horrible night in her home some six years ago, he hadn't changed his ways either, but had cut his hair though, that was it.

When she was satisfied with what she heard; silence, she produced the lock pick again, trudging against the lock.

It clicked loudly and she froze, listening for any change in the penthouse.

Cate strained her ears, not moving for nearly a minute, nothing changed.

She turned the knob slowly, entering the dark living room erect, closing the door behind her quietly.

Cate waited for her eyes to adjust to her new surroundings, the only light coming from the massive double windows, the soft and dim light pollution spilled into the living room from the city.

She crept through the living room, headed for the bedroom. The silence was deafening in her ears, she could feel the tingle and pump of adrenaline course through her body.

Her heart started beating harder in her ribcage as she approached the already ajar master bedroom door; Cate stepped lightly and pushed the feather hinged door, softly.

The hinges moaned and creaked causing the hair on the back of Cate's neck to stand.

She eyed the dimly lit bedroom; her eyes traveled to the dented pillow, then shifted to the cover strewn bed.

It was empty.

Cate felt a terrible feeling all of the sudden.

_I did this too soon. _

A sharp floor creak caught her attention, she turned quickly seeing a pissed Kim Ong advance her with an aluminum baseball bat in his grip.

"I've been waiting for you, bitch!" He screamed swinging the bat, creating a cruel hiss in the air.

Cate ducked just in the nick of time, but felt the aluminum graze her spine, causing her back to arch some.

Kim succeed in smashing a lamp on the nearest nightstand into smithereens, the sound shattered the quiet world around Cate.

Still crouched she dove at his mid-section, causing him to lose his grip on the bat, he gasped for air as the two fell on the wooden floor.

Cate forced her body to straddle his waist, pinning him somewhat, she used the temporary advantage to deliver blow upon blow to his unguarded face.

She felt some of the stitches split between her knuckles and heard one the joints in her fist snap.

Kim fought back, attempting to guard his own face with one hand and delivered a well placed ham fist to her lower abdomen. She felt all the air leave her body in a rush and nearly fainted as her legs lost their grip over his waist.

Kim wriggled out from under Cate's collapsed from, reaching for the discarded bat; he moved to a better height and brought the bat down on Cate's unguarded back.

She screamed in agony.

He was readying another swing with the bat when Cate found the strength to roll over and catch the bat in her shaky grip.

Her eyes had filled with hot tears and she wanted to vomit as she wrestled for control of the blunt weapon. The two hissed and cursed each other loudly waking up the lower floor tenants, several of them phoned the police about the disturbance.

Cate knew she was running out of time.

She finally reacted without thinking, placing a strong foot against Kim's crotch; he sobbed for air, buckled at his knees and released the bat.

Kim fell to the floor as Cate withered backwards on the wooden floor, still in excruciating pain from the blow to her back.

Her counterpart cursed her as he held his crotch and Cate forced her back against the king size bed, trying to stand, she finally did, still in blinding pain, the bat in her grasp.

"You bastard!" She screamed bringing the bat down on his fetal curled body.

Kim felt a rib snap under the crushing blow, then shifted quickly guarding his body with his forearms, the agony in his crotch forgotten.

He grasped the bat finally with one hand, the two jerked back and fourth for weapon superiority.

Kim fumbled at his ankle, trying to reach the concealed knife with one hand while he still fought for the bat, a monetary distraction for his enemy.

He finally reached the blade; swiftly removing it from its sheath, then jerked the bat hard again forcing Cate to take a step forward while he thrust the knife toward her stomach.

Cate evaded, seeing the shining, unforgiving steel at the last minute and the blade sunk into her inner thigh, piercing the hidden artery.

Cate screamed releasing the bat and grabbed at her leg, dark blood spurted from the wound; she collapsed backward and slid down the side of the king size bed.

Kim knowing she was incapacitated for the moment, pushed up and onto his feet, the bat still in his fist.

"Stay down," he pointed the bat at her harshly as she tried to stanch the bleeding with her hands. "Just you wait here. I got something for you." He exited out of the bedroom, mumbling things and cursing her name, taking the bat with him.

Cate wept as she held her leg, then started to search for a tourniquet around the room.

_A belt, a rope, a tie…Anything!_

She knew this was it, that she wasn't going to survive, but she wasn't going to give up either.

Cate shifted her weight dragging her body over to the armoire at the opposite end of the bed. She tore the bottom drawer out, finding it full of rolled socks, she grasped two or three of the rolls, knowing Kim would be back at any minute.

She wrenched the next drawer out and cried out in joy.

_Ties! _

Silk ties, just what she was searching for.

Cate grasped several with her sticky blood covered, gloved fingers and started to wind them about her leg, just above the knife wound.

Once she tied three of the expensive silk ties, she went to work on the protruding blade, still immersed in her strong, muscled flesh.

"This damn bitch!" She could hear Kim storm about the penthouse, Cate tried to ignore him and focused on the wound.

Cate tenured the rubber gripped hilt and pulled as hard as she could, the knife wound created a sick, sucking sound; she bit hard on her lower lip, nearly screaming, instead moaning in pain very loudly.

"This whore! This bitch killing everyone I know! Shoulda just stayed dead!" Kim called as someone beat on his door; he yelled something at the person knocking then Cate heard him pull the dead bolt.

The knife-wound didn't gush as bad with the tourniquets in place; she tore the trouser pant-leg around the wound to get a better look at what she was dealing with. The room was still dimly lit, the only light spilling into the room from the hallway where Kim turned the wall light on.

Cate felt faint from the blood loss and saw haze in her eyes.

_Focus! Come on, you can do this!_

Her field medic instincts where still in control as she numbingly pushed the rolls of sock into the wound, gritting her teeth as the foreign objects entered her body. Once she had two in place she wrapped two more ties to hold the socks.

_Ok, let's do this. _

She felt a new found energy and rage not to give up; she gripped the sticky knife and forced herself to stand. Balancing on the armoire, she tore at the hood used to hide face so she could breathe.

Her sinuses had shut down.

Cate steadied herself then stepped through the sweltering pain of her leg, more adrenaline coursing throughout her body.

She stepped hard through the hallway, searching for her target, ignoring the shear agony she felt with every step.

Kim had retreated to his concealed armory of illegal weapons he had in a back room of the penthouse, he was going to make her suffer, slowly. Not just for Jack, Bensyn and Bale. No, he was going to make her suffer in mind consuming misery for Christopher Harris, one of his dearest and now dead friends.

He palmed the already loaded dual .three fifty-seven's, then thought better off it, dumping them both, he reached for his assault-rifle, an AK forty-seven.

"I'm gonna turn you into Swiss cheese, bitch."

He shoved an extra clip into the back of his jeans waistband and turned out of the armory.

"_Is everything ok in there?"_ It was one of the lower tenants on the opposite side of his door.

"Get lost! This don't concern you!" Kim yelled kicking the door.

Cate moved quietly in the living room as she advanced Kim from behind and sunk the blade into his back

He screamed as she sadistically twisted the knife in his back then pulled it out; he fired the AK prematurely in surprise.

The deadly weapons' force pushed them both back as it fired half a clip into the penthouse door and connecting wall.

Two people were shot in the outside hallway, neither fatally.

Cate wrenched her wounded leg in its socket while she turned away from Kim's falling body. He hit the ground firing six more rounds in rapid succession, each projectile was embed in the ceiling above them, sheet rock and glass rained down on both of the wounded counterparts.

Cate tried to shield her eyes from the failing debris and Kim saw his chance. He pointed the AK at her unguarded body, about to fire when Cate saw his deadly aim.

With her good leg she attempted to kick the illegally civilian owned weapon from his grasp.

She wasn't fast enough; he managed to fire two bullets, one entered her already wounded lower leg and the other nailed her upper abdomen, she lost balance and fell to the ground, the AK clattering to her right.

Cate ignored the discarded weapon and the two new wounds; instead she focused on Kim reaching for the AK.

A miracle, somehow though all the chaos, Cate managed to hold on to Kim's knife. He struggled to reach his gun and Cate brought the knife down on his hand, pinning it to the floor.

He screamed as he felt the precious joints in his hand sever and snap.

Cate tore the knife out of his hand at electrocuting speed and crawled to his battered body, she straddled him once again, feeling one of the silk tourniquets rip as she bent her knee.

Kim grasped her throat with his only functioning hand and squeezed.

Cate felt the exhausting asphyxiation cloud behind her eyes and fought at his grasp with one hand.

He wouldn't release.

With no other option she turned the blade still in her other hand and forced it into his upper forearm.

His grasp faltered some but he refused to let go, an 'I will not give in'look in his eye.

Cate brought the knife down on his chest twice forcing him to let go. She exhaled and inhaled strong stabbing him again once in his chest another in his arm.

He cried out both his arms unless now. Cate sensing he was at his end leaned in to whisper, "Don't worry Ong, its just business."

Kim's eyes clouded over at her statement and Cate shoved the blade into his lower throat severing his spinal cord, ending his retched life. He exhaled while entering death once last time, it sounded wet and blood gargled.

Cate gasped tiredly over the corpse, then reached and started to write her bloody statement on the carpeted floor from the red pool gathering around his head and neck, it was shaky and loose this time. Not steady and precise as all the times before.

_I have to get out here._

She released her grip on the weapon, knowing the brass was on its way.

Cate stood warily and stumbled toward the penthouse door, clutching her stomach, she fumbled for locks knowing other concerned tenants where crouching in the hallway from the gunshots.

She hesitantly opened the door and saw the faces of the other tenants, they gasped at her appearance.

Bloody and bruised.

One whispered her name.

She ignored them and stumbled down the hallway, her wounded leg starting to go numb; she held her gushing stomach, while tying to reach the stairwell.

She wasn't going to make it and she knew it.

The elevator at the end of the hall chimed as she grasped at the stairwell doorknob, she didn't see the occupants but knew who it was.

The NYPD.

Cate wrenched the knob and stepped into the dim stairwell; she lost her footing and fell down several of the steps.

She had lost so much blood.

"She went that way!" Cate heard one of the tenants' shout to the officers.

_Come on, get up. Now!_

She gathered herself onto tried knees reaching for the stairwell railing and stood shakily.

One blood slicked gloved wrapped around the railing the other held the wound oozing at her stomach.

The stairwell door was forced opened and several officers stormed the landing.

"Freeze! NYPD!" One shouted at her, she now had several police issue Glocks pointed at her.

Cate gripped the railing, tear shaped blood drops ran off her glove and fell toward the darkness as she looked down…

…_I could…just…let go…_

She felt woozy and swift vertigo as she looked sixty stories down to most certain death.

"Cate, just back away." One of the officers called to her calmly, he approached very slowly down the steps.

Cate started to feel cold as her body entered into shock, the world around her faded to black and she felt her sticky grip on the railing loosen, gravity would take care of the rest.

She slipped into unconsciousness and the officer dove at her body to prevent her from falling over the handrail to a quick oblivion.

"Penn, call a bus!" The officer screamed to his partner as he pressed his hand against the stomach wound as Cate's skin started turn a paler shade of white before his very eyes.

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3:54 a.m, the same morning.

Captain Donald Cragen's head had just hit his pillow when his cell rang.

_I should have shut that off._

"Cragen," he murmured after he fumbled for the phone in his dark bedroom.

"_Donny, this is Mitch." _

Cragen's mind processed the voice and name monetarily, he was still in a dim sleep haze.

Mitch Calhoun, Cragen went to the police academy with him, they kept in touch at various times over the years, but they both had hectic careers now. Mitch was a Homicide Captain with the twenty-third precinct.

"Oh, yeah, Mitch. What time is it?"

"_3:55, I can't believe you're asleep." _

"Well, it is over three in the morning, that's when like to sleep. Mitch, I know this isn't a social call. What's up?"

Mitch paused on the opposite end of the line, "_We got_ _her_."

Cragen noted his emphasized tone, "Who?"

"_What do you mean who, you stupid bastard! Cate Monty! She's at St. Marks as speak, they've been sewing her guts back together. Chief of Detectives said your still in charge of this investigation so I'm just delivering the message and will fill you in when you get here." _

Cragen was dumbstruck, _She's at the hospital. She's in some form of custody. It's over…_

"_Don? Donny-boy?"_ Mitch asked at his stunned silence.

"Mitch, thanks. I gotta call my Squad." Cragen replied coming out of his haze and slinging the bed covers off in a rush to change into some clothing.

"_Hey, buy me a drink sometime and well call it even." _

"You got it." Cragen answered not giving him a chance to reply, instead hung up.

Cragen fumbled for his clothing as he phoned Olivia who sounded hoarse, then Elliot, he was in a dead to the world sleep, John sounded like he was already awake, Fin was sluggish, Nadia seemed annoyed but excited and Andrew sounded strained but promised to be in soon.

Cragen didn't bother taking his vehicle and instead managed to hail a cab around 4:10 a.m. After an eventless cab ride and the passage of turbulent hospital corridors, he was finally routed to the appropriate level where the elusive Cate Monty was recovering, the intensive care unit.

Captain Mitch Calhoun was there to greet him outside of the intensive care unit, they shook hands formally.

"What happened?" Cragen questioned.

"Monty murdered another person, a Kim Ong," Mitch answered reading the name of his newly produced memo. "He must have known she was coming, they had a firefight."

"Anyone else injured?"

Mitch nodded, "Two neighbors in the building, neither seriously."

"How bad is she injured?"

"I'm not sure yet. The chief surgeon that operated on her is still in with her. She'll be out any minute."

Cragen nodded, just then Olivia, Elliot and Andrew arrived.

"What happened?" Olivia and Elliot asked in unison after Cragen introduced Captain Calhoun, Andrew stayed quiet and seemed to have a slight limp.

"Monty took out another a guy, they had a firefight in the process." Cragen summarized in a slight exhausted haze.

"Who? Where?" Olivia questioned.

"Kim Ong, at the 647 Richardson Apartments." Mitch filled in, "Doctor," Mitch called to the chief surgeon exiting Cate Monty's ICU room.

Olivia racked her brain recognizing the name as one of the affiliations she had been researching.

The chief surgeon nodded heading their way; she rubbed the back of her neck and stretched her back some, obviously fatigued from the long, frantic surgery.

"Captain," she murmured nodding to Mitch, after introductions where made, Chief Surgeon Sara Heffner started the medical report of her patient, Cate Monty.

"Any later and the AK to her stomach would have killed her, but she will recover fully, we managed to save her leg and repair the damage to her stomach and lower abdomen. Does she have a medical background?" Sara asked to satisfy her own curiosity about the fantastic tourniquets, along with various stitching and cauterized patches of flesh all over her body.

"She was an Army field medic. Why do you ask?" Cragen inquired.

Sara tilted her head some, "She had some excellent tourniquets in place on her leg and several dissolvable stitches threaded in various parts of her body; fists, legs, some in her upper stomach. She also had a broken rib and some snapped joints in her hands, we took care of those too and she has some cauterization on her body. And she has also been shot recently, it was a .thirty-eight, most likely. I'm assuming she removed it, also."

The officers couldn't hide their surprise.

Self stitching.

Cauterization.

The self removal of a .thirty-eight lodged in her body; she's either tough or insane.

"She also is anemic. We're working on that problem too. There's something else also," she said wearily with a slight disturbance in her tone.

"What?" Cragen asked at the enigma that obviously bothered her.

"It's probably nothing to help your case, but this is just something your never see in the US, it's more suited to third world countries. When my nurse went to insert the catheter she noticed something very, well, not quite_ right_." She said in timid preparation for the detectives and captains.

Sara intertwined her fingers before continuing, "She noticed her sex had been mutilated, female circumcision had taken place," she didn't stop, but the horror was obvious on their faces, especially on Olivia's.

"Unfortunately, I know what a proper circumcision looks like from my time in Africa. This one was very…_crude_…like whoever did it didn't know how to do it, but it was just effective in its purpose."

"I pulled her file and read that her mutilations where all self inflicted, this was not. It couldn't be and it wasn't recent either, someone did this to her. It wasn't listed in her file, but the inflection is very old. If I had to guess when this happened I would say nearly five or six years ago."

"When will she wake up?" Elliot asked shifting the conversation after a few awkward seconds.

Sara fidgeted her glove chapped fingers, "Seventy-two hours, tops. We have restrained her as a precaution, arms and legs…I'm assuming your going to have officers posted outside her door."

"Yes, we have a warrant for her arrest and will put in affect when she's is able to be taken into custody. Do you have any idea when that can happen?" Cragen asked keeping up with professionalism.

Sara shrugged, "A day or two after she wakes up. But I want to make sure she's well enough to leave. I won't release her prematurely," Sara said morphing into the non-biased doctor she was taught to be in medical school, "I know she's a murder, but I won't let her leave until she has recovered to my fullest satisfaction." She finished sternly, in an untrusting tone toward the officers.

Sara had seen the evidence of corrupt and sadistic law enforcement officers before.

How many inmates had she patched up in that Nevada prison ward before she came to St. Marks?

_More than I want to remember. _

Cragen spread his hands in defeat, "I wouldn't have it any other way. I want to be contacted _immediately_ when she wakes up."

Sara nodded, "Of course, I can't guarantee I'll be here when she does, but I will be keeping close watch on her."

"Thank you, Doctor." Cragen added, Sara offered her hand and Cragen shook it in thanks before she took her leave, she desperately wanted out of her bloodied scrubs.

"Well, I've got reports to fill out about this, and then I'm off to bed." Mitch said tiredly in Cragen's direction.

"Yeah, we'll be heading over to the crime scene. Thanks for the heads up, Mitch." Cragen answered in slight jealously that Mitch would be getting rest this morning and he wouldn't.

Mitch nodded knowing he was jealous and shook his hand, "I'm gonna hold you to that drink, Donny-Boy," Mitch replied, "Detectives." He said in turning to the rest of the Special Victims officers, they nodded as he left.

A few minutes later John, Fin and Nadia arrived, all in various moods. After Cragen's update, the group started their descent toward 647 Richardson Apartments, the penthouse level.

To view the wreckage and the body of Kim Ong, the man that nearly killed Cate Monty.

(End Chapter Nine)

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So…one to ten? Sorta saw, sorta didn't? Thanks.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

A/N: The background story about Olivia….ah…I made it up. Just clarifying, but ya'll know that already.

Very violent, very graphic and heinous stuff coming up. Govern yourselves.

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"Here's Kim Ong's life. Have fun with it and now if you'll excuse me, I've got a pillow with my name on. Enjoy the sunrise, Detective." Detective Antonio Moretti murmured slyly handing Olivia Kim Ong's pulled file in passing at Ong's penthouse door.

"Thanks." She called to his back.

"Don't mention it." He replied exhaustedly.

Olivia flipped the manila opened taking in his credentials and criminal history, Elliot by her side and Cragen who choose to wait behind as their counterparts entered the penthouse.

"Kim Ong, second generation Chinese-American. Did some time in Washington for the negligent murder of his brother, Huan, he got out on parole and did some time in Sing-Sing and California. He's sold drugs and guns. Has run some brothels in the city and some in 'Jersey. He's even done a little counterfeiting of the American dollar and the Euro, too." Olivia voiced, giving her partner and superior the just of his file, she skimmed some more.

"Know affiliations; Asher Kerr, David Hebel, Anita Garcia….Bale Braddock and Christopher Harris." She sighed at the mention of Braddock and Harris, two of Cate's pervious murders.

Her counterparts reacted the same, "I'm going to enjoy interrogating her." Elliot murmured entering the penthouse to make his own observations.

The squad unconsciously paired off in their respectable partnerships to observe the penthouse, while Cragen spoke with the lead CSU analyst and the officers first on the scene.

Fin and John stared at the bloodied floor of the master bedroom; the white carpet stained a dark red and a drying brown in various places.

The coppery smell was fading, but was still present enough that it attacked Fin's sinuses.

Bloody handprints and drag marks here and there, the armoire had two drawers wrenched and their contents franticly rifled through, smears of blood were plastered about the finely finished pecan wood.

A shattered lamp was nearby, bits of porcelain and glass scattered in one direction of the room.

"What gets bloodstains out? White wine?" John said slightly chipper than usual.

Fin cut his eyes in his direction, coming up with his own response, "I thought milk did. I know peroxide does. You seem really happy right now, you're not your usual cynical and paranoid Munch that we all know and love. Did you get laid or something?"

John smiled, "In more ways than one." He said grasping Fin by the shoulders gingerly before he walked out.

_What? Nadia? No way. She wouldn't, would she? _ Fin thought to himself, they did arrive together at the hospital, before he did. Fin also sensed that John had meant much more to that comment.

Olivia lightly crouched next to Kim Ong's corpse noting the large protruding knife lodged in his throat; his head was turned at an awkward angle due to his severed spinal cord.

The smells didn't bother her as much right now, but they were there, hanging in the room along with gun smoke, coppery blood and human defecation.

Several bruises had developed on his face, along with nicks and cuts from Cate's fists. Kim's eyes had glazed over with a putrid gray film and rigor mortis was starting to attack his body.

Elliot looked over at the messy calling card;

"ITS JUST BUSSINESS"

It was nearly unrecognizable, "She was really losing it." He commented at the poor finger painting compared her other bold and clearer statements.

"Yeah, she must have thought she was going to make it." Olivia replied recalling the stairwell they viewed minutes before, it was bathed in Cate's blood, smears ranging from wide red scimitars to soft, subtle drops along the landing, walls, steps and railing.

"Nice piece he has there," Elliot gestured his foot to the blood stained AK forty-seven near Kim feet, "Betcha it's hot."

Olivia nodded, "More than likely."

She rejoined him standing straight and arched her back some to stretch her spine, "Let's see what else he had around here."

"Whoa, I'd love to have one of these." Nadia said in awe stepping up to the illegal mortar-launcher, in the large armory, she didn't touch it but observed it.

Andrew didn't reply his eyes darting around the room, several of the weapons he recognized.

Some of them he had personally used.

Nadia glanced over at her distracted partner, "Andy-man, you ok?"

He snapped out of his reminiscing haze, "Yeah, why?"

"Well, its just that since we left St. Marks you've been really quiet and favoring your crotch a lot more than usual and kind of limping. You get jumped or something?" Nadia questioned stepping into the pool of personal issues.

Andrew laughed when she said 'he was favoring his crotch more than usual', "Does it seem like I favor my crotch a lot in public?"

"Well, no more than others guys." She shrugged leering behind a closet door within the room, discovering several boxes of virgin ammunition.

"I ran into an old girlfriend a few hours ago, we didn't part in the best of ways either. Anyway, she said something and I said something…_off color_, without thinking and I paid for it." He was lying but he it brilliantly, she never suspected.

Nadia chuckled, "I hope you weren't drunk or anything."

"Naw, I'm sober now."

The various detectives sifted throughout the penthouse, bouncing ideas and observations on their respectable partner and vice-versa. None of them were prepared for the Pandora's Box, Elliot was about to open.

Elliot observed Kim's office, nice leather chair, neat and organized desk, complete with a Thatch laptop, various hardbound books aligned on shelves around the study; the Karma Sutra, Encyclopedia's and several law texts ranging from American to Chinese to Russian.

Olivia walked over to the desk, picking up a thoroughly thumbed and worn address book, she flipped though the ink stained pages with her latex covered fingers, a few of the names caught her eye, one in particular; Bale Braddock.

Elliot stepped over to the bookshelves, scanning the titles, noting the very broken spine of the Karma Sutra when he left a slight breeze, vertically.

He half expected to see a vent when he looked to his right, but there was nothing but an adjoining wall, he stepped closer running his gloved hand over the corner of the wall, still feeling the breeze.

Elliot stopped listening to Olivia who was babbling about the address entries and focused on the puzzle of the breeze.

He chewed his lip, _It's a false wall._

Elliot ran his fingers along the plastered wall searching for some sort of trigger or switch.

"I'm headed back to the station to start the paperwork, you both can have th_—_what the hell are you doing?" Cragen asked as Elliot was playing wallflower, it brought Olivia out of her address skimming.

Elliot looked back at his superior knowing he wanted an explanation, "This wall, its fake."

"Is anything in this world real to begin with?" Cragen philosophized sarcastically.

Elliot ignored his comment and continued to feel for a trigger when he noticed a small impression in the carpet. He recognized it as a faint electrical cord beneath the carpet; it ran from the wall to the desk. Elliot dropped to his knees and crawled to the desk, feeling for the cords exit.

Olivia looked on as if he was insane, Cragen watched intently.

He felt all around the underside of the desk until his fingers brushed against something small and knobby. Elliot glanced at the small flat switch and pressed it, the wall he just accused of being fake, slid aside quietly revealing a whole another room.

The three drastically shifted to cop mode, Elliot drew his weapon as did Olivia and the two stepped to the revealed room, going through the motions of clearing.

Elliot entered first, signally for Olivia who swept the room for any possible hazards, "Clear." She called after her sweep, re-holstering her firearm.

The room had several televisions rigged up in the center and several running laptops on various desks.

Olivia stepped over to the nearest desk where a lamp had been left on, focusing on an opened binder.

"It's a surveillance station." Elliot labeled as Cragen brought up the rear.

"Oh my God." Olivia whispered staring at the opened binder after flipping a few pages with her latex fingers.

"What?" Elliot asked in more alarm than worry appearing at her shoulder, flanked by Cragen.

"I_—_I've seen him, he's been missing for months now…" Olivia pointed at the photo of the missing boy in a clear shelve of the binder, Elliot eyed the photo then turned the pages of the binder revealing more photo's of children both boys and girls, all in various stages of age.

"What the hell is this?" He hissed erratically.

Intuition suddenly bit in Cragen's mind, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He stepped hard on his heal and fumbled with the switches of the various television screens, they all flickered on at various intervals and he gasped at what he saw.

_Is this a live feed? _

Cragen grabbed for his radio, "This is Cragen to base, I need any available electrical and computer techs to 647 Richardson Apartments, the penthouse floor, immediately!"

"_Base responding and dispatching. Over and out." _

Olivia and Elliot turned at his sudden outburst and faltered at what they saw on the multiple screens.

"Think that's live?" Olivia asked in shock and disgust at what she was viewing.

"I don't know but I'm not taking any chances." Cragen replied as he looked on at the screen that shifted from blocks of distorted pixels to clear images of children all in various states of despair, then back to distorted pixels as the camera shifted in the room producing the feed.

Most were half-dress and bloodied as they walked around a large room, in zombie hazes, stumbling blindly and lost.

Enslaved and held against their will.

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Several minutes after Cragen made the call to the station, several electrical and computer technicians arrived at the 647 Richardson penthouse, attacking the multiple laptops and surveillance step-ups. After a few minutes it was determined that the feed was live and the signal trace led to a waterfront warehouse on the opposite end of the city.

Specifically a building zoned for assembly line work, which was its front, its cover.

A SWAT team, several ambulances and fire trucks converged on the building, along with the Special Victims Unit.

The SWAT team stormed the building just as the sun was rising over the bay; a firefight broke out with Kim Ong's men stationed in the building. The SWAT team returned fire for what seemed like hours when in fact it took mere minutes.

After it was thought the building was cleared of any threat, the Squad and SWAT team reentered the building searching for the young lives they saw dwindling on the surveillance screens.

The building was massive, twelve levels, each one deserted of life but held small crude bedrooms. Several bedrooms in fact, furnished with sadistic devices and restraints attached to each bedpost.

Tension, frustration and disturbing images started to run though the minds of the detectives and SWAT officers.

They knew what this place was and what those bedrooms where used for.

They couldn't believe such_—_such _evil_ existed in the world.

Fin felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins as John kicked in another bedroom door, finding dried, bloody sheets and no life in the room. Fin cursed knowing that so many children were in this building and they couldn't find them.

Nadia flanked another bedroom with Andrew finding magazines of child porn and a stripped mattress with bloodstains on the floral design.

Elliot stepped quickly on the darkening stairwell steps, his weapon draw and in front of him, Olivia at his side as they descended into the basement level, while the others searched higher.

The air started to change with every step from the humid and dry morning to a sticky and moist night, combined with a stagnant taste that caught in the back of their throats.

Elliot's heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears with every cautious step; Olivia controlled her breathing under her tight, nearly constricting Kevlar vest.

The stairwell began to darken even more and Elliot started to rely on the slimly handrail and Olivia stuck to the moist residue tilted wall, then she felt abruptly cold.

She suddenly found herself thinking back to the fall of 'seventy-seven, when she and Manny, her best buddy, crept into apartment F10 of their building.

Apartment F10 was supposedly haunted by a wicked and renegade Irish banshee; the site had become a scary story to tell to frighten children.

The oral yarn started after the murder of the Kavanaugh family during the ninety-forties, the tale changed over the decades but kept to its core and was told to the young children in Olivia's building again and again.

The strappingly handsome, young Irish-Catholic son who killed his mother, then raped his sisters and dismembered two little brothers along with his father after he came home from work at the mill; the son was dragged away by police officers shouting the banshee told him to do it.

After the beautiful and overly sexual succubus bedded him and then mutilated his face and body with her kisses leaving demonic and wicked symbols etched in his pale flesh, as the story went.

They locked him away in Soam Threnody's Insane Asylum, he was forsaken and left to rot and die of dysentery.

As the story went.

Olivia had always noticed weird things happening around that apartment, she always got an eerie feeling when she had to pass by the door on the way to her own apartment, when the building elevator was out, and she'd have to take the stairs, which happened a lot.

She had learned to run by it as quickly as she could as a small child, she always seemed to feel something gnawing and pulling at her ribbon wrapped pigtails.

Or so she thought.

Then there where the strange things that happened around F10, like inhuman sounds, strange lights and shapes around the door, especially around four p.m.

Someone even tried to live in F10, when she was eleven, he was found six days after he settled in by the superintendent hanging from his bathroom curtain rod with an inverted pentagram etched into his forehead.

It was enough to scare any child or adult.

Olivia remembered her and Manny being double dared by Lindsey Martin, another preteen in the building, to go into F10 and bring something back.

Neither wanting to be labeled 'chicken' risked trespassing and took the dare.

When they both entered the eerie and musky smelling apartment, Manny grabbed a chipped heart-shaped glass ashtray discarded near the door and said for them to go. Just as quickly as possible, he was scared she could tell.

She was about to go with him when she suddenly felt fearless and had the urge to explore the apartment; the thirteen year old Olivia Benson creped slowly around the dusty and broken glass strewn floor, Manny still whimpering for her leave with him at the door.

"_Just a minute."_ She called.

"'_Livy, come on."_ Manny pleaded as she disappeared around a wall to the front bathroom, she noted the cracking police crime scene tape piled up on the floor in a dust wad.

Olivia kept moving around the bathroom, still hearing Manny call to her. Observing this and that; dust, chalky soap, old grooming utensils, rotting terry towels, shattered glass and a dead, crusty mouse trapped in the ceramic sink, its hallowed eye sockets loomed at her.

She had her fill there was nothing else.

Just as she was about to leave, she heard an eerie hiss, she wrenched her neck causing a terrible crick while turning to the sound.

It was a thinly and ribbed mother cat with bloated tits, with a mouse kicking franticly in her yellowing, sharp teeth. The cat blew at her and dove off the dusty toilet tank passed Olivia and out into the living room where Manny squealed.

Olivia rubbed her neck as she laughed at his squeal, _"It's just a cat,"_ she said leaning back around the wall to the living room, _"Yeah, I know."_ Manny said hiding the tears of fear.

A rattle caught Olivia's attention and she turned back to the bathroom, the neck spasm forgotten and suddenly felt very cold, she eyed the room, fear pinching at her features and felt a swift sting in her upper arm.

She hissed in pain pulling her arm against her budding chest and stared at the tear in her shirt-sleeve and the swelling red flesh beneath it.

She didn't know what scraped her so viciously and glanced around the room expecting to see a piece of glass or serrated metal near her, but saw nothing.

Olivia knew her mother would beat her if she saw the rip in her clothing; hopefully she'd still be hung-over or passed-out-drunk when she got back to the apartment and would have time to stitch the tear.

Olivia heard another rattle and the hair on the back of her neck stood erect, she glanced up at the dusty mirror in the bathroom and for a split second she saw a face in it and it wasn't her own.

Or so she thought.

It was enough to scare her once again, Olivia and Manny left the apartment quickly, delivering the ashtray to the others, while she hid her arm.

The cut turned into an odd shaped scar and sometimes if the light hit it just right it looked like a snake, complete with forked-tongue and eyes.

Olivia still had the scar on her upper arm; she brushed away the old memories of apartment F10 and focused on the cold dark stairwell, Elliot at her side, her metaphorical and present day 'Manny'.

A dim haze filled her line of vision as the stairwell started to fill with light from the ending level.

The silence had been deafening for such a long time then was abruptly shattered by gunfire and not their own.

Elliot forcefully pushed Olivia back a few steps, she lost balance and fell awkwardly on the leveled concrete, she felt her back pop on the uneven steps and a sticky spray stippled her face.

_Blood!_ She realized in haste,_ Is it mine? _

Harsh curses could be heard as fevered steps echoed up the stairwell, several people where headed their way. Olivia gripped her Glock and instinctively reached for her ankle holstered Nine Milliliter, she knew she was going to need all the firepower she had.

She glanced at Elliot who was lying next to her, not moving or speaking. His Kevlar vest had several slugs lodged in the side impenetrable sheets and had a bullet in his right arm, it was bleeding profusely.

It was his hot blood that sprayed her face, neck and spattered in her hair.

A rage consumed her as she stared at her partner who lay wounded and vulnerable on the dimly lit stairwell.

Olivia stood warily, the black .three fifty-seven in her right hand and the nine millimeter in her left, new found adrenaline ripping though her body.

The footsteps on the stairwell slowed as her adversaries became hesitant.

Olivia held her breath and crouched eyeing the well armed men, four in total, "NYPD! Drop your weapons!" She screamed identifying herself.

The men looked up at her totally ignoring her order and opened fire with their AK's.

Olivia flung herself backwards knowing they would do that, but she followed procedure and identified herself, anything she did now would be self-defense.

She clicked her radio harshly about to call for back-up and heard the men start reloading, now was her chance.

Olivia discarded her radio without calling for backup and stepped out on the stairwell landing, "Drop your weapons now!" She screamed pointing her own weapons at the four heavily armed men an entire landings length below her.

The first two slowly lowered their AK's and quickly crouched so their counterparts would have the opportunity to shoot her down.

Olivia didn't hesitate as she fired both weapons simultaneously, the first to shots tore through the men about to shoot her, one recoiled from the force and fired upward chipping the concrete above them causing a spray of gray to rain down, the other's body smashed again the titled wall behind him, he slid down leaving a trail of red.

The first two men who had appeared to surrender, reached for their weapons, Olivia lowered her trajectory and fired with the .three fifty-seven into the nearest gunman, the recoil reeking havoc on her wrist.

His chest exploded from the force, but he managed to pull the trigger just as he fell backwards.

Olivia felt the hot lead sear though her lower leg and she lost balance, falling to her side, the .three fifty-seven clattered from her grasp, rolling down the steps, it discharged once into the concrete steps above them.

The last standing gunman took two steps forward and unloaded an entire clip into her Kevlar, but not before she steadied the nine milliliter in her left hand, aiming wearily and fired what was left in the clip into his body.

They where both struck by the multiple bullets at the same time, Olivia fell unconscious from the force to her chest and the other gunman flipped backwards on the steps from the fatal shots to his abdomen and upper chest.

She didn't know how long she lay there unconscious until she felt Elliot forcefully strip off the lead hot, constricting Kevlar. She gasped for air and choked with hot tears in her eyes as she looked up at her partner's face ashen with fear.

Olivia felt the urge to vomit, but refrained.

She couldn't have been out that long; gun smoke was still lingering in the dank stairwell giving everything a hazy bar effect.

"Ell_—_Elliot," she whispered brokenly.

"No, don't try to talk, the medics are on their way." He hushed at her, still holding her up in his arms.

"Did I get him?" She asked ignoring his request, Elliot huffed knowing she would.

He glanced down the poorly lit stairwell to the landing below with four bloodied bodies and strewn AKs.

"Yeah, you got him. Got all of them actually." He answered his arm had stopped gushing, but still bleed.

Olivia tried to sit-up, "Don't move." Elliot scolded her pressing his fist harder into her upper thigh to stanch the bleeding she didn't realize she had been shot twice.

She winced and brought her hand down to the wound on top of his fist, "I don't know he got me twice…" she trailed off suddenly feeling very tired.

"Hey, hey. Benson! Stay awake!" He ordered shaking her slightly, Olivia's eyes fluttered at his voice, then sealed into unconsciousness.

Just then the rest of the SWAT team arrived, along with the paramedics and other Squad members.

"That area is not secure!" Elliot called to the SWAT personal passing him on the landing, one nodded to him as the others passed. Two paramedics made their way to Olivia; one gently pulled Elliot aside so she could get a better look at his arm.

"What happened?" Cragen asked fevered as Olivia's unconscious body was loaded and strapped on to a folding stretcher.

"The area wasn't clear, I was hit first and lost conscious. When I came too Olivia was lying on the landing, her vest was nearly destroyed and the others where dead. I radioed and waited." He reported Cragen nodded.

"Go with her and get checked out." Cragen ordered, Elliot was obviously relieved and left with the paramedic checking his arm.

Cragen took a few steps after the SWAT officers, flanked by John, Fin, Andrew and Nadia, all still wearing Kevlar.

Nadia noticed Olivia's discarded and practically destroyed vest pegged with several AK slugs, steaming and a large red stain on the concrete, her blood and her police issue .three fifty-seven, tottering and tilting on a step.

None of them spoke as they took in the scene of destruction, Olivia had acted in self-defense, they all knew it and would never doubt it.

The aroma of blood hung strong in the air and mixed with gun smoke, along with human defection.

They surpassed the broken and punctured bodies to the dimly lit corridor where the SWAT team swarmed.

Cragen was pissed, the building had been designated clear, yet two his officers had been injured, neither seriously, but the fact remained.

Several children screamed up ahead in the dim corridor causing the officers to break into a run.

"What the fuck to do want from us?" A high male voice called hostilely.

"We found them!" A SWAT team operative called down the corridor.

"Esha! Don't fuckin' touch her!" A feminine voice hissed at one of the SWAT officers.

They had located the lost souls they viewed on the surveillance cameras.

"No! Get away!" A small voiced cried in another dialect, Nadia recognized it and replied back in the child's native tongue for her not to be afraid.

The dirty and bloody little girl ran past a SWAT officer toward her voice and latched on to Nadia's leg speaking rapidly in Hindustani.

Nadia held back picking the child up and cooing to her in the dialect while the others continued on to the other children quickly taking cover in the basement level.

"Please calm down," Cragen tried to gain control of the situation, "You in charge here?" He gestured to the tall, lanky boy with the fevered mass of young children hiding behind him, ages ranging from five to eighteen.

The fitly young teenager stepped up to Cragen shaking in a ripped shirt, his face was flushed with adrenaline, "I am, sir. 'Cause I'm the oldest." The pimpled teen kept his eyes lowered like a dog that'd been beat in submission, but Cragen could feel his unforgiving rage and venom to strike if he had to.

"What's your name?" Cragen asked.

John felt his stomach turn as he started counting heads, "I got thirty-seven. You?"

"Thirty-eight, including Nadia's lil' leech." Fin replied.

A little girl around five walked up to Fin in all the excitement and tugged at his trouser leg, she spread her arms wanting to be picked up. Fin obliged taking the little tear streaked girl into his arms.

"Peter, sir. Peter Mason, sir."

"Peter, can you help me with something?"

"Well you get us the fuck out of here, if I do?"

"Yes, that's why we're here. How many are there of you?"

"Thirty-eight, sir. This is all of us." Peter spread his arms to all the faces that peeked out behind his thin, sheltering body; he was their protector, "And Esha. Where is she?" He demanded not fully trusting Cragen.

Nadia stepped into the doorway of large basement with the young Indian girl still in her arms, totally calm and relaxed in Nadia's warmth. Peter's hackles lowered immediately seeing that she was safe.

"Thirty-eight. Ok, follow him and he will take you out of here." Cragen pointed to the led SWAT officer, the children held back, waiting for guidance from Peter.

"Natalie, lead them." Peter whispered to a mid-teen girl next to him, his obvious 'lieutenant', the young blonde a few years younger or so then Peter tugged at the small hands in her grasp and followed the SWAT officers out of the dank basement, the rest of the children followed her.

Peter held back, "What state are we in?" He asked Cragen quietly, the other detectives coming to a partial circle around Peter.

Cragen looked taken aback, "You're in New York City."

Peter's face fell, "My God. I didn't know I was so far from home."

"Where's home?" Andrew questioned for the first time.

"Texas. What month is it?"

"August." Nadia interjected, swaying slightly with Esha.

Peter's face fell again, he couldn't believe it.

"What month did you think it was?" Cragen questioned.

"I know they took me some time ago, I didn't think it was that long. I've been living January." He whispered the tears of newly realized revelations singeing his eyes.

He was free, they were all free.

None of them would have to battle for sanity anymore, but they would have to fight the demons of trauma.

The long road of recovery now lay out before them all.

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Thirty-eight emotionally and physically tortured souls were drudged out of that, fitly, moldy basement back to the present, away from the twisted, surrealistic rape, molestation and sodomy of being whored out to the highest bidder.

Sex slaves.

Thirty-eight lost souls.

Each one had been reported missing ranging from days to months, some from various parts of the world too.

The small twin girls from Thailand; Daw and Mali, a boy from Russia; Pasha, then Mabelina the girl from Mexico City, just to name a few.

All their parents or appropriate guardians had been contacted within hours of their rescue and were on their way to New York, the department footing the bill.

Each one had been medically examined for STD's, AIDS/HIV and for pregnancy. Most had a clean bill of health, others weren't so lucky.

Like Natalie Yarns, Peter's lieutenant, she had suffered an illegal abortion, preformed by one of Ong's surgeons. There was little doubt she could ever bear a child naturally, not without medical and surgical assistance.

Or the boy Michael from Nova Scotia, he had recently contracted HIV and measures where being taken to prevent AIDS. But his future looked morbid.

The sad and ugly truth of the whole situation.

It was causing rifts throughout the entire Squad, what several of them wanted to know if Cate Monty knew about the basement salves.

And if she did, why she didn't do something about it then?

She had aided Petra Ramirez and Nathan Thorne, why not these children?

"Ready to go?" Nadia asked in Hindustani to little Esha Bhaskar, the little girl had become like a shadow to Nadia, she didn't mind. It connected her to what she could have had, if not for that British prison guards' Billy club.

Esha nodded and spoke rapidly in Hindustani, she was so happy to have someone to speak to her native language after so many months.

Nadia yawned and stood at her desk, Esha at her side taking her hand as they both walked to Cragen's open office.

She knocked wearily on the door frame; bringing him back to the present from all the paperwork.

"I'm taking her shopping for some new digs, then back to my place to catch some Z's." Nadia gestured with her thumb to the elevator behind her.

Cragen nodded, Esha had taken such a shine to Nadia, he was happy about it too, she felt safe around Nadia.

"Be safe, see you in a few hours." He waved them off taking another caffeinated swig of coffee; he was wired for the rest of the day.

"Alrighty, in a few." She changed back to Hindustani as Esha started talking to her quickly and the two left.

Cragen focused back on the paperwork, knowing what blessing that it was that Esha's parents had been located and where on their way from Ipswich, England for their daughter as he sat there.

Everything seemed to be turning for the better for the Squad; Cate Monty had been captured, the murders where over with, the interrogation would start soon, then the trial and on top off it all, thirty-eight lives had been saved and would be returned to their families.

The news had already been leaked to the press about Monty's capture and the lives recovered in that basement.

The Chief of Detectives Caitlin O'Connell, held a press conference an hour ago to confirm the news, she was beaming, it positive press for the NYPD, that was always an up.

Then Vince Connors came out of the woodwork again, he demanded audience with Cate Monty, it was denied immediately by O'Connell.

Cragen had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last time they heard from Vince and just as a precaution he had more guards posted at Monty's hospital room.

Just in case.

His desk phone rang, "Special Victims, Captain Cragen," he cradled the receiver in the crook of his shoulder and neck.

"_Hey Cap, it Stabler,"_ Elliot's voice cracked some over the cell connection.

"Elliot, what the doctor's tell you? How's Olivia?" He questioned in concern for his two subordinates.

"_Mine was just a flesh wound, but I'll be in a sling for a while. Olivia will be on crutches for a few days, nothing too serious." _

Cragen nodded to no one, _"We're on our way in, 'k."_

"Great, I'll brief you both when you get here." He severed the connection and went back to his paperwork, in a much better mood then he had been in days.

He felt like he could relax and look forward to five o'clock this evening, he wasn't putting in any overtime today. He was going home to catch up on some much needed sleep.

It was over.

Or so he thought.

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Dale Kinsey said nothing when Andrew Gage opened the passenger side door to her Pontiac Trans-Am and seated himself, slightly shaking the vehicle. The overhead light powered off slowly and Dale looked back out to the dark bay.

The evening was darkening and she could see and hear the thunderheads rolling in the distance, from over the ocean.

"I knew Kim wouldn't hav gone down with out ah fight." Dale said in her noticeable Southern accent.

Andrew nodded, "Yeah, I knew too…Lord, she's killed so many…." He trailed off remorsefully.

Dale reached over and grasped his hand which was resting on his knee; she gave him a gentle squeeze.

"How does it feel ta be the angel of revenge?"

Andrew didn't speak at first, contemplating his answer, "Good. Most of the time it felt so good. So right. Like_—_"

"Justice had been severed?" Dale interjected sensing his answer.

"Yeah, but you know that. When are you going to get back in the game?"

Dale's eyes glinted some and she smiled taking his hand and placing it over her over lower abdomen, she looked back out to the bay through her clean windshield, "I've been takin' life for so long…Like it was all I was ever good at…I wanted to bring one in ta this world, instead ya know. I had an epiphany, down in Arizona. I'm done with the hits. Lengsfield has let me go, I'm no longer ah hitwoman, I'm ah gopher now…which is fine with me." She declared softy in her deep, rich accent.

Andrew felt her warmth through the soft downy shirt.

"Who's the father?" Andrew asked tenderly as she let his hand go and he pulled it back into his personal space.

"You don't know him, at least I don't think you do, Caleb Saxon."

Andrew shook his head, "No I don't. Is he a good guy?"

"Well if you mean he wants this child and wants to help me in rasin' it, then yes." She said with a lovely smile in the dark cab of the vehicle.

"You'll be an excellent, mom. I know it, if you ever wanna come back the door is open you know that. You were good, I always thought that and I'll always know that."

She smiled shyly at his compliment, "Thank you."

"I mean it, you weren't like Curie, Thompson or Anita."

Dale looked repulsed the mention of Anita, "That woman, ugh. There is something wrong with her. Business is one thing but what she does is just…Ugh…You remember Mobile."

He nodded recalling the multiple hit, "Yeah she's…Anyway who am I tonight?" Andrew asked wanting to drop the subject of that horrible memory and focus on his hit tonight.

Dale let it drop and reached behind her seat for the maroon folder and handed it to him.

Andrew thumbed it opened, "Your name, a schedule of the hospital rotations, both medical and NYPD, temporary id and your map of the floor." She rattled off reaching behind the seat for the brown paper bag.

"Male nurse; Nicolas Crane." Andrew said with an authority tone eyeing the medical id with the digitally doctored photo of him beneath the laminated sheet.

It was photo of him taken nearly four months ago for another hit, his hair was black then. He'd have to dye again it tonight before carrying out with the hit.

Dale handed him the crinkled paper sack, "Your scrubs and nurse shoes."

He opened the rolled shut the paper bag and eyed the contents, pale green scrubs and smooth bottomed shoes.

"Just what I've always wanted." He smiled at the rumpled uniform.

"How are you going to do it?" Dale asked.

"Lengsfield wanted me to make her suffer if I had the opportunity. I'm thinking a shot of Mojave venom. Slow and painful. She doesn't deserve any less."

She nodded, "Can I drop you anywhere?"

"No, I'm parked a block away. Thanks for this." He held up the folder and bag.

She nodded, as Andrew stepped out of the car, the overhead light clicked on.

"And Jon," She called; Andrew held back and looked at her.

"Give her one for me. I wish I could be doing what you're doing. I hate it that Chris won't get to hold his niece or nephew." Dale unconsciously touched her abdomen.

Andrew nodded, "I will, night Dale."

He shut the car door, Dale backed up and drove away from the bay, he watched her taillights fade in the distance as he trudged toward his Charger.

Thunder clapped in the distance, _"There's a blue northers_ _commin'." _

Andrew heard his grandmother's words echo in his mind, he hadn't thought of her in years.

He didn't want to either.

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It was a quarter pass ten that evening before Andrew finally adopted his new identity for the next few hours, the assassin guise; St. Marks male nurse Nicolas Crane.

He'd dyed his hair black; it was temporary and would wash out the next time he shampooed.

Pulled on the pale green scrubs and laced up the smooth soled shoes, then slipped the St. Marks Hospital id lanyard over his head, ringing it around his neck.

Grabbed the small, black zipped pocketbook, it housed the syringe and the medical vial filled with Mojave Rattlesnake venom, given to him by The Doctor, another one of Lengsfield Philips's _associates_.

Andrew palmed the pocketbook while locking his apartment, took a cab to St. Marks Hospital and watched the soft rain drizzle on the dark city streets. He ignored the rain and made his way into St. Marks lobby, talking to various people as if he worked there his entire life.

Avoided security cameras at every turn, took the elevator to the appropriate level, faked a clock-in saying he was the other guys' fill-in for the night.

Waited around a few hours faking nurse routines, before managing to gain access to Cate Monty's recovery room, Andrew flashed his id at the four NYPD uniforms and they waved him in.

She was perfect.

Cate Monty lay out and strapped to the bed before him, vulnerable and unconscious.

He absorbed her physique briefly, Cate was well shaped and formed, her muscles developed to a dominating strength, but not to an unfeminine intimidating bulge.

The burn tissue was very noticeable at her throat, upper chin; and trailed back down to her collarbone, ruined breasts and distorted lower torso.

Andrew couldn't see that region, it was covered loosely, but modestly by the thin hospital gown, but he could imagine. The same with her arms, her left was much worse than her right, discolored and uneven in areas, some of her flesh had been seared off by the flames.

Even with the charred flesh she was still beautiful. Her body was speckled with permanently reddened and blackened skin spots and discolored to a silver white in some areas, but she remained beautiful.

Her bleach blonde hair was starting to show its original roots, a light brown pepper was spotted about her scalp.

The bruising on her face had started to recede and the cuts were scabbing over, she had some fingers wrapped in pale blue castings with surgical steel pins protruding from her joints.

She was recovering.

Her heart monitor beeped rhythmically, steady and strong, the IV drip inserted in her inner elbow continued its life giving feed into her body.

She was getting stronger.

Andrew looked down at her, angrily, a rage boiling in his veins.

He hated her for what she had started, he couldn't take the good with the bad; killing Jack Kershaw, Andrew never carried much for him, Mark Garston, who had nothing to do with anything, Christopher Harris, who was a dear friend to him and Dale's brother, Bensyn Connors, the great gun and drug lord, Bale Braddock, who he would never forget and Kim Ong.

Andrew looked at Kim like he did Jack, he was a sick bastard, Andrew didn't care about his life or work, he never did in the 'eighties or the 'nineties.

That basement warehouse he had been in today proved had proved Kim was a sick bastard.

Andrew could still see those dirty, smelling children's faces as they where loaded into ambulances headed to Jude's Hospital where some would learn that they had contracted life threatening STD's and others would be told that they would be fine, luck ran rampant in their veins, truly blessed.

He hated Kim Ong for that and briefly agreed with Cate, Andrew Gage, the hypocrite.

He cared about Christopher and Bale, even if Bale had _problems_…well, that didn't matter now, anymore.

Andrew sighed whole heartedly, wishing he could do more to Cate then just inject her with the fatal poison; he wanted to physically tear her apart, in the name of his fallen friends.

He shrugged at his torrid thoughts; time was running short as he unzipped the pocketbook, removed the sterile syringe from its slip and penetrated the foil sealed vial.

Andrew pulled the plunger away from the barrel watching the deadly clear fluid bubble and flood into the virgin barrel. He extracted enough to kill three adults, enough to make her feel the excruciating pain of her body hemorrhaging from the inside out.

After he replaced the empty vial in the pocketbook again, he leaned down to her neck and pressed the hollow needle to her coarse, supple flesh and forced the plunger with his thumb.

He smiled sadistically seeing her face pinch with pain briefly as the barrel emptied into her bloodstream. His work was done and he exited the room, nodding to the uniforms; avoiding cameras again on his way out.

This time he walked home in the soft rain and dumped the pocketbook, empty vial and used needle into East River on the way.

Andrew returned to his apartment destroyed the scrubs and started to wash up for the night, popping three sleeping pills in the process.

As he toweled off rubbing his slightly darkened blonde hair, he inspected his penis in the process, the swelling and inflamed redness had finally stared to subside compared to this morning.

But the mind numbing throb that had turned to a dull ache due to Lengsfield's sadistic grip, did remain.

_Well, maybe it won't turn black and rot off from gangrene. _

His member was the least of his problems now, with Cate taken care of he could focus on his original hit; that SVU officer.

He was close now and still hadn't decided when to carry out with the hit or how, but soon.

Thoughts of Dale Kinsey penetrated his mind…

…_she had gotten out. _

The mirror reflected his tired face and swollen nose, _I could get out too. This could be my last hit._

_No, I can't. This is all I'm good at, all I've ever been good at. Or maybe…_

He shrugged at the idea and depressingly pulled on a pair of boxers and passed out on his unmade bed at nearly one a.m, oblivious to any problems with his now inactive hit.

Cate Monty is dead or so he thought.

Andrew Gage didn't count on Cate Monty's body having an almost immediate allergic reaction to the venom.

It occurred nearly five minutes after he left, her body started to convulse and seizure as the hemotoxic enzymes in the venom started attacking her blood cells and began eating away at her tissues.

She started writhing and arching uncontrollably like she was being possessed by a demon. She sprained her wrists and ankles in the restraints, pulling muscles and even dislocated her left shoulder. Then her saliva glands kicked into over production nearly drowning her before one of the uniforms posted outside her door noticed the violent racket within the room and called for help.

No, Andrew Gage didn't count on anything like that happening, but it did.

She was supposed to die slowly, painfully and quietly.

But she didn't.

Cate Monty was intended to die within twenty minutes after the lethal injection, without any allergic reaction or complication.

But she didn't.

Cate Monty lived…

…and the rain droned on into the morning, the thunderheads rolled and roared early during that tepid fall.

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The Eighteenth Day

August 27, 2005 Saturday

"This is an outrage!" Chief Surgeon Sara Heffner screamed in Captain Donald Cragen's direction, "Are your officers not trained properly! He, who ever that was, is not one of our staff!"

_You know what else is an outrage? I've had a combined ten hours of sleep the last three days…I could snap at any minute_, "Doctor, I understand, but keep in mind your staff didn't even think to check his credentials. Your people didn't even know anything was wrong. It's happened…What is her status?"

Sara pinched the bridge of her nose feeling a migraine coming on and looked out her office window, watching the rain patter and run down the slick pane.

"She's comatose. She might wake up in a few hours, days or years. I don't know. I've never had to deal with venomous bites or in this case injection. It just attacked her nervous system and ate away at her blood cells and she's anemic to begin with." Sara shook her head at the chaos.

Cragen nodded at the negative news, "I believe it is in both of our best interests that this doesn't happen again. I'll take further security precautions, I expect you to do the same."

"Oh, I will. I have the State Medical Commission Board breathing down my neck because of this."

"I have the Chief of Detectives breathing down mine."

Sara gave a twinge of a smile, Cragen found himself returning it, sensing what could be said had been said, "You will keep me posted, Doctor."

"Yes, I will."

It was a quarter passed eleven when Cragen finally returned to the station; it was still raining steadily as he pulled his jacket off, seated himself at his desk and continued to etch on various forums, observing the several days following, quietly.

The Cate Monty investigation would put on hold, save for the attempt on her life last night, an investigation on that was active. Then the leak to the press and the tampering of the criminal database was under its own investigation.

The next few days around the station were quiet; they where all playing the waiting game, anticipating, lingering patiently for Cate Monty to wake up from her coma.

Life continued for the thirty-eight rescued from the basement, they were all returned safely to their families. It was hard on Nadia, Cragen could tell. But she and Esha Bhaskar exchanged information; they would become modern-day pen pals and traditional ones too, using e-mail, etc and handwritten letters.

Nadia was content with that.

Olivia was healing from her gunshot wounds; she was limping quite a bit on one crutch for several days. She was also evaluated by Doctor George Huang over the self-defense she exhibited in the warehouse and deemed stable and ready to return to work. As for her bizarre behavior; it seemed to falter some, and yes Cragen had noticed she was acting differently.

A look here or a mood swing there, he had inquired to Elliot about the situation who chalked it up to stress from the case, the same circumstances he was feeling. If things got out of hand for her, Cragen would have a private conference with her, to figure out what the hell was going on and get to the bottom of it.

Elliot was recuperating too, his arm was in a sling for a few days but he healed much quicker than Olivia.

Work continued for the Special Victims Unit, assaults ranging from rape to molestation filtered in and were handled accordingly; reported, investigated, warrants and arrests, interrogated, trial and imprisonment.

Again and again waiting for Cate Monty to wake up.

Reported, investigated, warrants and arrests, interrogated, trial and imprisonment.

Case after case, small to large, simple to complex, straight forward to distorted.

Reported, investigated, warrants and arrests, interrogated, trial and imprisonment.

Then even celebrated, drinks all around at Vasquez's after a successful case and trial.

Like a drumbeat.

This went on for nine days. Three case where completed or the lose ends of cases occurring during Monty's murders were tied up. Not a bad track record.

The city was returning to its norm and most had forgotten about Cate Monty.

They were about to remembered her.

(End Chapter Ten)

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Now taking anonymous reviews.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

Wolfwood11: I'm sorry you didn't get the feel, but I wanted that scene to feel rushed because I wanted it to feel like frantic and hectic situation where Olivia reacted as a cop, do or die situation. Now or never. But yeah, it was rushed, no doubt. The other combat scenes to come will hopefully be to your liking. I strive to please. Thanks for the constructive criticism.

And the whole not recognizing Andrew thing, the guards were 'uniforms' and on completely different shifts then that of Andrew, so their paths would have never crossed when Andrew wasn't incognito. So yeah…anyway, do enjoy and rock on!

Shakeahand55: 3:30 a.m.! Good lord, well I'm glad you enjoyed it. And no, you don't sound pissed. Hope you enjoy this one.

SVU Lover4ever: Thanks! I know my muse will come back, most likely over the Holiday Break he will return and I'll mange to crank some more stories out.

A/N: Cheyenne, Wyoming is real…but I made up Waterville, a little sub town. More graphic stuff, you've been warned.

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"I suppose you've heard."

"Yes, I have." Lengsfield Philips said aloud, without fear of anyone hearing him in the small and practically deserted movie theater.

"My earlier request about having the opportunity to make her suffer…scratch that. Just shoot her in the head and be done with it." Lengsfield munched on butter drenched and over charged popcorn.

"Right…after her and the cop, I'm done." Andrew ventured and felt his testicles draw up into his abdomen out of fear and reflex.

Lengsfield paused for a moment then turned around in the dimly lit theater seat to face Andrew.

"You're _done_?"

Andrew nodded, "I don't want to do this anymore."

"You're done!" Lengsfield erupted into laughter, "You just don't quit."

"Dale has."

"She also was stupid enough to get knocked up and doesn't have enough sense to get an abortion. She's a killer, always has been, always will be. That baby doesn't have a chance. Same with you, you're a killer. That will never change." More crunches of popcorn.

"I mean it, Lengsfield. I'm done, make me a gopher or shylock, I don't care. I don't want hits anymore." Andrew was standing up to his superior, he felt so alive doing it and terrified at the same time.

Lengsfield eyed him for a few moments, sharply, "Fine."

_Fine? This is too easy…_

"Take care of Cate and the cop and you're done. I still have Curie, Thompson, Sort, Ore or even Anita, _the queen of hearts_…In my deck. One of them will replace you or I'll take a trade from one else. There's always something in my syndicate you can do." He turned back to screen; watching a food advertisement, compete with annoying music.

"Have a nice evening Jon, oh and give Elettra Acardi a call. Looks like you could use an _anti-depressant_ right now." Lengsfield sneered as the lights went down and the feature started.

Andrew nodded taking his cue and getting up to leave.

Fucking was the last thing on his mind right now, where as the exodus of no longer being a hitman was bursting in his psyche.

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The Twenty-Seventh Day

September 4, 2005 Sunday

_What is that smell?_

"_Freeze! NYPD!" _

_Blood? _

"_Cate, just back away." _

_Gun smoke? _

"_Penn, call a bus!" _

_Oh, its bleach._

Cate Monty slowly opened her eyes to a darkened hospital room, the only light coming from a dimmed florescent above her.

Rain pattered and ran in long streams down the slick pane of the hospital window; Cate stared at the window slowly realizing where she was.

The sterile smell of the hospital room filled her nostrils as she tried to reach her face. She jerked her wrists felling a twinge of pain, she hissed quietly, allowing the pain to subside, and then leered down to see her now pale and pasty wrists restrained to the bedrails, the same with her ankles

An IV protruded from her inner elbow; a faint purple ring encircled the needle and she could feel a catheter in place.

_How long have I been here? _

Cate surveyed her surroundings.

_I have to get out of here. _

Her mind began to clear and she started to focus and formulate a plan of escape.

_I could dislocate my left in order to stretch… _

Cate had fallen out of a tree when she was nine; she and her two sisters were building a tree house. She lost her footing on a piece of bark and plummeted to the orange and rouge colored leaves on the fading St. Augustine grass growing in their backyard.

Her left shoulder was dislocated and ever since then she had been able to pop or pull it out when ever she wanted, then relocate it just as easily, but it hurt like a bitch.

Cate steadied her breathing, focused on the task, leaning forward, the back of the thin gown opening slightly, she felt a chill run a across her back, raising a rash of gooseflesh causing her to hiss. Pausing slightly, biting her lip then wrenched her shoulder, wreathing in pain from the searing pop.

_So far so good. _

Pushing her dislocated shoulder awkwardly to her backside while she pulled her back as low as she could toward her waist.

_Yoga…Ain't it great. _

Cate tongued for the strap wound about her left wrist, latching her teeth to the leather flap and pulled it slowly, hissing and spiting as she did.

The leather absorbed her salvia and was changing color, once it was out of its loop; she pulled flap trying to force the pin out. She tugged changing the flush of her skin until the steel pin fell out of its hole.

_Yes._

Cate jerked at the loose restraint pulling her wrist free, flexing her fingers freely, then with what coordination she had from the dislocated shoulder, she went to work on her other wrist, then her ankles and relied her Army medical education, to remove the catheter herself.

After tossing the coarse bed sheet aside, with her moveable fingers she pinched the clear tubing, only able to use one hand, stanching the light yellow flow, then lowered her mouth to the now drained side of the tubing and gnawed at it with her teeth, popping her back in the process.

The hosing finally severed, in uneven cuts by her front teeth, she spit out the rubber bits, tainted with her own foul, salty and acidic tasting urine.

She released her pinch on the other side of the hosing and watched the pale urine drain from her body, coloring the sheet, like a growing and unfolding blossom, compete with scent.

_Not all blooms smell pleasant. _

Once all her urine had expelled from her body, she gently pulled at the tubing, easing it from her body. After a few tense moments she felt the last of the tubing exit her urinary track.

Now she had to focus on getting out of this bed…

…_can I walk even?_

Cate flexed and wriggled her toes, confidently…

…_I can do anything I want._

Before she moved her legs over the cold, steel rails, she pulled the IV from her inner elbow with her right hand. Deep red blood beaded and pursed from the needles' hole, she didn't bother stopping the flow and instead ignored it, moving her legs over the railing and touching her bare toes to the clean, infertile and cold floor.

The chill surged up her toes causing the synapses in her knees to jerk back from the cool tiles.

_At least I can feel that._

With her flexible arm she forced the rest of her body over the rail, her left shoulder hanging numbly at her side. Cate found her footing, disoriented and awkward, still grasping the steel rail as she eyed the small windowed door.

_My goal._

Now standing partially erect, she choose to try and walk on her own, steadily she released her grip on the now warm steel, balancing.

_First step is the hardest. _

Cate numbingly tried to walk, her steps where pathetic and uncoordinated. She nearly fell, her ankles where so sore.

_I can't run…I can't fight…_

She wondered what time it was, by the dark window she guessed it was night, but it was raining, it could just be the overcast of the storm.

…_but I can creep._

Cate side stepped and shuffled with little coordination to the opposite side of the room giving her a better view of what lay outside that door. A large cart obstructed her view in the hall, various boxes of medical supplies sat virginal on the steel shelves.

But she didn't see or hear anyone. With a shift hiss she pressed her shoulder against the wall, forcing her arm back into its socket, it popped sickly.

Feeling stronger then she did a few minutes ago, Cate chose to take a few warm-up steps in the small recovery room. Starting a stronger blood flow and building her confidence…

_How much muscle mass did I lose?_

More steps.

_How long was I out?_

More steps.

Cate reached for the waistline of her lose gown lifting it up high, observing the bandages; remnants of the gunshots and the knife wound. She peeled one back, viewing the knife wound in her inner thigh; the stitching was partially dissolved into the flesh.

_Over a week. Why so long? _

After she pasted the tape back down and smoothed it she crept up to the window in the door, Cate carefully observed both ways, avoiding any attention that she might draw.

Nothing.

No one.

Not a nurse or guard or even a janitor.

Cate shrugged at the odd circumstances, but she wasn't complaining either.

_It must be three in the morning or something for it to be this dead._

She wrapped her hand hesitantly around the doorknob and opened it, peering out into the hall, crouched slightly.

Steady breathing.

And it wasn't hers.

Cate froze, seeking the throat that emitted the soft breaths.

They came from a petite male NYPD officer, whose arms where crossed over his chest and snoozed deeply in the short back chair on the opposite side of the door, just out of her line of vision when she scouted from the window doorway.

_No need to wake you…_

Cate crept by quietly, knowing she would have to find a disguise to get out to here. The corridor was long and as equally dead…

…_where is everyone? _

The nurses station was empty as she approached, she eyed the ticking cat clock on the wall; 4:07.

_Must be morning…Has to be._

Her steps where becoming stronger as she whipped around the nurses station searching for some garments, anything to change into and blend into the hospital backdrop.

_This is a hospital isn't it? Or it's a pych-ward._

She shuttered at the disturbing thought and continued to rummage though duffels stuffed beneath desks and unlocked drawers for anything. Cate scavenged a stained sweater hanging on the back of one of the swiveling chairs and a pair of rolled socks in duffel.

_A start. _

The soft cotton hugged her toes and immediately gave her a cozy feeling. Still wearing the gown she pulled the stained tan sweater tight around her thin body, she had lost a lot of weight.

Cate didn't realize how much until the sweater nearly overlapped halfway around her back.

"McMercury!"

Cate jerked at the obnoxious shout and ducked beneath the desk.

"Mother-fucker, why are you sleeping?"

A gargled moan came from the petite officer posted outside Cate's door.

"Davit, you're going wake them."

"What? Come on, their all a bunch of vegetables."

_Vegetables? I'm in a comatose ward! _

Cate thought back to her injures sustained from the fight with Kim Ong.

_I was shot twice and stabbed…That was it…Wasn't it?_

"Some will wake-up someday. Hopefully her."

"Yeah, speaking of which," a door knobbed turned, hers…

…_shit…_

"She's gone!"

_Shit._

"What?"

"She's gone! Are you deaf? This is Davit to security, Monty is gone. Repeat Monty is gone. Lock down now!"

"_Affirmative. Over and out." _

"Damnit, McMercury! Cragen's going to have your balls in a vice."

"I—I,"

_I have to get out of here. _

"What is all the shouting about?" Demanded a new, rich and maternal voice.

"Monty, she's gone!"

Cate pressed harder against the desk, this was getting very hairy.

"No. That's not possible." The woman said in a rush taking quick fevered steps, pausing at the nursing station picking up the cord phone and alerting security, yet in the new found chaos she still managed to be as vigil as ever.

Nothing ever escaped her eyes.

She noticed the missing stained sweater from the back of the chair.

Her missing stained sweater.

That how Cate concluded about how she was found.

That's why she was now having several volts of electricity pass through her body.

Jerking like a fish in its own personal hell.

Cate wound up turning the large nursing station over while she violently convulsed, but before she was turned into a modern day light socket, she managed to get a few hits off.

McMercury took a shot to his crotch, Davit a well placed foot in the kneecap. They both recovered slowly, Davit quicker then McMercury who reached for the stun gun hanging on his belt and shoved several volts though her body.

Cate lost consciousness, again.

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The Twenty-Eighth Day

September 5, 2005 Monday

"She what?"

"_Attempted to escape. Long story, she didn't but she's awake and can be released. I suppose I'll be seeing you soon."_ Sara Heffner reported over the phone line in Cragen's office.

"Yes, thank you, Doctor." Cragen hung up without saying another word, whipped on his raincoat, snagged the un-expired arrest warrant and stormed out of his office.

The sudden movement from his office door drew the attention from various officers and detectives in the squad room.

"You two," he pointed to Olivia and Elliot, the only two lead squad officers in the room, "she's wake lets go." He didn't even wait for them to respond and instead walked pass them to the elevator.

The trip to St. Marks Hospital was full of questions and adrenaline bursts, they where finally going to be able to talk to Cate Monty, this time safely, on their turf and under their rules.

Sara Heffner met them in the lobby walking with them to the appropriate floor, talking rapidly about what happened.

How Cate managed to dislocate her shoulder, relocate it, undo the leather restraints with her mouth, remove the catheter with one hand and managed to slip out of her room undetected, but only for a brief time.

Sara left them to their own vexes as she opened the door to Cate Monty's new room, the four entered slowly to see Cate, restrained and looking out her window watching the rain pour and lighting scorch the sky outside.

Cate turned to them, recognizing Olivia and Elliot immediately from her other apartment, "I suppose you have that warrant this time."

She didn't mean it hostility, just in a factual manner. But it didn't stop the death stares she received from Elliot and Olivia.

Before either could retaliate, Cragen stepped in moving to her side producing the folded and official blue arrest warrant.

"Cate Monty, this is your arrest warrant for multiple murders committed in the city of New York."

Cate nodded at the warrant, "When does it go into effect?"

"As soon as you can be released." Cragen answered, noticing she wasn't faltering at his words or acting at all hostile.

It was like she was taking it in stride, another unforeseen complication that she would some how surpass.

As she did when Elliot and Olivia came for her that day, then again when Kim Ong nearly pumped her stomach full of lead.

Just another obstacle, she was so used to those now, jaded to them even.

"So an hour, then." Cate concluded her eyes fluttering to Sara Hefner who nodded in accordance.

Sara had gone over her injuries with Cate when she woke up again, the gunshot wounds, the stab wound, the broken rib, damage to her hand joints and the anemia which Cate had suspected having for sometime now.

Then the more disturbing news, what caused her to slip into the temporary coma, the near fatal injection of Mojave Rattlesnake venom.

Cate didn't falter at the news and she wasn't surprised at the attempt on her life. She knew who was behind the attempt too, but didn't relay that information to Sara when she asked.

Instead she simply replied it could have been anyone.

Sara also inquired about the crude female circumcision, Cate's eyes glazed over recalling that horrid event, Cate told her gently, not wanting to seem hostile, that she didn't want to talk about it, but that it was done to her, against her will. Nothing else was said about it.

Sara told her she was well enough to leave, she would continue to monitor Cate and that she would see to it that her diet would consist of mainly iron products during her imprisonment at the SVU station, in order to battle the anemia.

"A little more observation then you'll be released into their custody." Sara answered still standing near the doorway.

Cate nodded, "I want to thank you and your staff for everything."

Sara smiled thinly.

The hour passed quickly and Cate soon found herself being watched by Olivia and a female orderly, as she dressed in the now feminized room. Olivia stood intently, her hand rested on the butt of her .three fifty-seven, just in case.

_I won't screw-up this time._

The misfire still weighed heavily on her mind.

Cate had no intention of trying to escape, yet. There was a time and place for everything, and this wasn't the time or place. The opportunity to fade away into the city's background would present itself again and she would take full advantage of it.

Cate pulled on a thin undershirt while leaning against the bed; her eyes would dart over to Olivia then she would advert them when Olivia noticed her. Cate felt remorseful for darting her now while she watched Olivia, Cate knew the paralyzing agent wouldn't have caused any permanent damage, but she wondered how much worry she put Olivia through.

Wondering about the possible repercussions or the total loss.

"For darting you…" she pulled a cotton sock on, "and your partner, I am sorry about that." Olivia watched her quietly, her eyes locked with hers darkly, "I had no other choice. I wouldn't have done it had I know about you…Or had I noticed it then. It was a very _chaotic_ situation."

"What are you talking about?" Olivia hissed hostility, trying to ignore the sincerity she could hear in her voice and see in her eyes.

Cate paused hesitantly; averting her eyes to the young orderly and then chose to speak anyway.

"Your pregnancy."

Olivia froze, she hadn't told anyone yet, she still had trouble excepting it herself.

Nearly two weeks ago she had been in the laundry room of her apartment building, minding her own business several days into this whole Cate Monty fiasco.

Olivia had just removed her delicates from the wash when Milena Orlov, the elderly first generation Russian woman who lived a floor above her asked when she was due.

It caught her completely off guard, but then suddenly everything made sense, the vomiting at odd times, the moods swings, her sense of smell suddenly becoming very sensitive and the cravings.

Olivia merely smiled at Milena and didn't answer her question, instead rushed out of the washing room to her own apartment, leaving her delicates to sop on top of the washing machine, forgotten.

Stormed into her bedroom wrenching the top drawer out of her nightstand and grasp the small calendar used to mark her menstrual cycle.

_I've been late before. Stress does that. Shit, SVU does that! _

It wasn't odd for her to be late; she had never been very regular to begin with, only when she was on the pill did she have some _order_.

_Shouldn't have gone off it. _

Stress caused it; the heinous acts she had seen and hoped she would never become jaded too would sometimes throw her cycle out of order. Nothing big, she would always start a few days late or a few days early.

Eventually.

She flipped the calendar opened and started to count back.

_I'm just late._

Olivia counted, _Eight days. I'm eight days late. _

It would always be two or four never eight days.

_Could I be? _

The timeline fit with the last time she engaged in intercourse.

It was enough to make her rush out of her apartment, snagging her pocketbook and locking the door, storming down to the lobby, out to the busy 4:06 afternoon street on a Saturday to hail a cab.

Went to the nearest drugstore, walked with an adrenaline rush to the various birth control items and pregnancy tests aisle.

She noted the many different pregnancy test boxes, she hadn't had to do something like this in years, the last time was during her first year at the police academy. As it turned out she wasn't pregnant then, but was just as equally nervous, apprehensive and scared.

In a flush of impulse she grabbed five different boxes and quickly moved up to the checkout, dodging eyes, terrified that someone from the Squad would see her.

After the quick checkout and swift cab ride back to her apartment, she slipped into her bathroom not bothering to shut the door, seated herself on top of the dark maroon toilet cover and ripped open the first box.

Read the instructions, then moved on to the next box, and the next and so on.

_Pissing on a stick…Things haven't changed since the 'eighties. _

Somehow she managed to produce enough urine for all five pregnancy tests, fumbled for the alarm clock set in her cell phone and waited.

She started pacing in her living room, hundreds of visions and 'what could be's' started searing though her mind. And then the questions that followed.

_Can I do this…Alone? _

_Do I want this?_

_What about my career?_

_Why did I have to get so drunk?_

_Hell, why did we both get so drunk and fuck like dogs?_

The alarm chimed before she knew it, causing her to stop abruptly in the living room.

She stared at the opened doorway to her bathroom while standing in the living room still, viewing her partial reflection in the mirror; suddenly she was petrified to go in there.

Her life could change forever in an instant just by stepping over that threshold, sealing confirmation.

Summoning up all the courage she had left on that Saturday afternoon she moved into the bathroom, her feet felt like concrete blocks and she silenced the annoying chime on her phone.

_This is it._

She turned to the five used tests seated like trophies on the toilet tank.

Blue.

All five had turned a varying shade of blue, blue meant positive.

_I, Olivia Benson am pregnant. _

She stood there for so long, unsure of what course of action to take next.

Abortion was out of the question, always had been for her.

The next few days she was very distracted and the Squad noticed it, Elliot eventually asked about it, and she lied. Again she lied to her partner.

Then the incident at Cate Monty's apartment and the aftermath spent at the hospital with the various tests, and the private confirmation with the doctor away from Elliot's presence.

It was real now, confirmed; thankfully there was no damage to the fetus.

_Fetus! _

The word seemed so alien and scary to her.

Over the next few days she made the decision to keep it, she'd figure something out with the Squad and Cragen. She expected full support from them when she would come clean about it.

But the fact remained she hadn't told anyone.

_How does she know?_

Not her captain, not her part_—_

"What's the hold up?" Elliot called knocking then opened the door abruptly, jarring Olivia out of her haze, Cate didn't blush or fluster as Elliot looked upon her while she pulled on the used and faded denim jeans.

Elliot looked away quickly apologizing; Olivia didn't reply her mind still reeling from the now naked and flayed revelation that someone else _knew_.

Cate brushed it off, waving her hand at Elliot as the orderly helped her into the wheelchair, St. Marks didn't want to be liable if Cate lost balance and fell in the hospital after her official release.

She could sue and they knew that.

But what was she going to take them to court with?

Cate Monty was damned to begin with, she already considered herself dead.

After she was situated in the chair she held her hands out to Elliot, waiting for him to cuff her.

He produced the steel cuffs from beneath his jacket and latched one to her left wrist and clicked the other one to the handrail of the chair. She didn't fight or resist him, merely took it all in stride.

The orderly pushed her out of the room when Elliot waved her on, out to the escort of NYPD officers and Cragen.

Olivia remained still in her dumbstruck haze, Elliot was about to leave when he noticed her looking on and out to an oblivion in the room that he couldn't see.

"'Liv?" He touched her shoulder timidly causing her to jerk at his touch.

"Did she say something to you?" He asked in concern at her sudden distant and autistic-like haze.

Olivia looked at her partner like she didn't recognize him, then covered her eyes distraughtly, "No, no she didn't. I'm fine, just tired."

She lied again, _You know if you keep telling yourself that you'll start to believe it. _

The depressingly antagonistic voice in her mind purred.

_Shut-up._ Olivia hissed at the voice moving out into the hallway after the escort of officers.

_Just shut-the fuck-up. _

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The ride back to the station was uneventful; Cate didn't say anything while she sat in the back of the police cruiser, this time with both hands cuffed behind her back and Elliot seated beside her if in case she somehow managed to get out of the cuffs and figure out how to unlock the backdoor of the cruiser from the inside.

He doubted that, but they weren't going to take any chances now, she had proven how resourceful and elusive she could be.

Thankfully the press didn't know about her being released, yet. He wondered how long it would take for the leak to reach them.

Cate didn't fight when they arrived at the station; she stood with the help of Elliot out of the backseat, still shackled.

Entered the nearly deserted station quietly, the few in the station did double-takes as she walked by with two officers on each side of her, and the multiple escorts in tow as she was herded to an interrogation room.

She was seated in the steel chair and left to her own vexes in the quiet interrogation room, she eyed the double mirror, shifting uncomfortably in the handcuffs. Cate wondered who was on the opposite side of that mirror, she stared hard at her reflection wishing she could see pass her own deformities into that room.

Cate looked at her scarred face, the burn tissue at her lower chin and cheek and her consumed throat. Her hair now partially that bleach blonde and the tell-tell brown roots had exposed on beyond her scalp about half an inch and the scabbing at her temple nearly dissipated.

Her nose had an itch and she couldn't reach it.

The door to the interrogation room opened harshly, Cate didn't jump or shake at the sudden noise. It was a tactic and she knew that, Elliot seated himself in front of her with a manila folder, white notepad and pen in hand.

He had removed his jacket, rolled his selves and tucked his tie into the second and third gap in his button shirt.

"Could you remove these cuffs, please?"

"There a precaution." Elliot answered not looking at her, readying his area.

"Detective, I am in your custody. In a police station with several officers…Do you really think I could walk out of here? Do you really think you're in any danger of me?" Cate droned.

"No, this is how it's going to work_—_"

"No, Detective, that's not how it going to work." Cate cut him off.

"I asked you nicely to remove these cuffs, I'm not going to attack you, I'm not going to try and escape from this room. You want answers, you want information and you want a confession. I'd be more cooperative if you would remove my cuffs. I want to talk with you and help you in your investigation really do, but you have to help me first." She said sternly, locking eyes with him hard.

A tap on the mirror drew Elliot's eyes to the side and he stood leaving the room, only to return several minutes later.

He was obviously annoyed as he forcefully removed her cuffs and clipped them to the back of his belt.

"Thank you," she murmured to him not reacting to his forcefulness, "Thank you." She called to the double mirror.

Elliot had taken his seat again; Cate stretched her wrists, scratched her nose and ran a few digits in her short hair, tossing it about casually.

"Six years, Cate. You've been legally dead for six years. That's a lot of time, where have you been and why did you come back now?" Elliot asked starting out slow.

Cate leaned back in the steel chair, taking in his words slowly.

Then leaned forward, "You want to hear my story?"

He nodded, Elliot had been intrigued by this case from the very being, consumed by curiosity and had so many questions. This entire case seemed so surreal to him, he wanted to know the truth.

_What brought this woman back from the dead? _

_What sent her on this path of destruction?  
_

_Who was really responsible?_

_Or was she just insane and she did kill her own children, mutilate her body and set their home on fire?_

It seemed like a huge conspiracy.

Something was there though.

_Why else would some try to kill her in the hospital and tamper with several files?_

_What if they are the same person? _

_What if their not?_

"Will you listen to it without prejudice, at least until I'm finished." She pointed her finger to emphasize the liberal tag at the end of her sentence.

"Until you're finished." He nodded.

"How much do you…What do you know already?"

"That you were found guilty of the murders of your two children. Sentence to life imprisonment and escaped on transport jumping off the East River Bridge. Presumed dead, speaking of which…how did you survive the fall?" Elliot questioned.

"That's a good place to start then…" Cate trailed off averting her eyes slightly to a corner of the room, then back to Elliot.

"I made the decision after the guilty verdict was read, that I wasn't going to prison," she leaned back in the chair.

"No, I was going to escape as soon as possible and find the _bastards_ responsible for the murders of my children and the mutilation of my body."

"I contemplated how while they hand and ankle shackled me in my orange jumpsuit. As we went over the bridge I felt it was a good as time as any." Cate interlaced her fingers on the cool steel table.

"I managed to subdue, _not kill_, the officer in back with me, then throttled the guard in the front seat and driver until he swerved and flipped on the bridge."

"I lay on the ceiling of the van for a few minutes until I realized what happened, then forced the van door and ran out on the hot pavement. Other police officers had been alerted and I saw them storming down the bridge, full tilt with sirens and lights just blaring." She waved her hand at the chaos she witness coming for her on the bridge that day.

"Seeing no other option other then taking a hostage on the bridge, which…that is not something I could do. Put another life in danger like that." She could almost sense Elliot's thoughts, he was naming her a hypocrite, she knew it but continued anyway.

"So I jumped. I didn't think I'd live, it was more on impulse. A reaction." She recalled the fall, how terrifying and liberating it felt at the same time.

"I fell for what seemed like hours. The impact popped my left shoulder out of joint, shredded the jumpsuit, knocked one of my shoes off, it turned skin my raw around the shackles and then I lost consciousness, briefly. I woke up a few minutes later because I could still hear the sirens above me."

"I knew I had only a few minutes before they would find me, I swam, well sort of swam over to one of the bridge's pillars and used it to force my shoulder back into place."

"I kept to the pillars beneath the bridge making my way to land. I found myself crawling exhaustively out of East River onto the crumbling concrete retaining wall of the abandoned warehouse district. Still shackled."

"The sirens became louder as I stumbled around the abandoned buildings, partially barefoot, walking on broken glass and steel shards. Cutting myself up pretty bad."

"I finally bunkered down in a decaying building basement and went to work on getting out of my shackles. I waited three days before I set out to find food, water and items to change my appearance."

Elliot made small notes on the white notepad and continued to listen.

"I cut my hair with a piece of glass and dyed it white with a bottle of peroxide I stole from a store's back stockroom. Found some clothing, cleaned up and walked around the city like a ghost. It was confirmed I was a ghost when I read in the Times that I'd been declared dead. 'What to do now?' That's was I wondered."

"Later I noticed in the obituaries that my children's funeral was going to be held that day. I had watch from an overpass that was as close as I could get. I sobbed and cried as I watched them being lowered down into the side by side graves, and I couldn't mourn for them publicly. I was denied that right as mother." Cate felt the heat of sorrow behind her eyes as she thought about that scene, forever seared in her mind.

"That night after everyone had left the cemetery, I risked walking out to the fresh plots and cried for them. I gave up on that _idea_ I had of revenge right then and there. I had no way of finding the people responsible, I had no names… but I had their faces, that was it." Cate looked up at the mirror again.

"So, I didn't go out and buy myself a Saturday Night Special, like I was going to. No, walked away from the city, I was dead and didn't care about anything. I walked and walked, hitched hiked and tried it forget what happen. Let God deal with it." She looked back to Elliot, the devout Catholic.

"I moved from city to city and state to state, adopted new names and worked piss jobs I didn't need a past for; waiting tables, janitorial work, bartending, cleaning kitchens, things like that. Then two years ago, after I started a new life in Waterville, Wyoming, this little town a few miles east of Cheyenne. It happened again, injustice, a case swept under the rug, facts ignored and handled sourly because money talks." She looked at Elliot hard, not quite accusing but wearily with piercing eyes.

"You should write that town down so you can confirm it later." Cate felt a flashback to a time when she was a teacher and would purposely drop hints to her students about what would and wouldn't be on their exams.

For the shear hell of it he did, "Waterville, Wyoming east of Cheyenne." Elliot confirmed etching on the pad.

Cate nodded and continued, "A young girl, well eighteen," she surged at the age. "Was raped by three men. They had DNA and witnesses that confirmed and proved it, yet they found the three men innocent. Because two of them where the brothers of the local sheriff and the other was the cousin of the mayor, the jury was bought. They accused the young girl of crying wolf, that she was blowing it way out of proportion and that she was promiscuous to begin with. I knew her, she was a _mouse_." Cate emphasized with her eyes.

"The small town trial brought New York back to me. Accusations that I killed my children, which I didn't. Justice would have been severed had the judge and jury not been bribed and restricted to certain evidence. Evidence that was always just being _misplaced_." She hissed at the statement, turned away to recomposed herself.

"So, after the trial, as I watched jury members around me bask in their tainted wealth, some bought ridiculous sports cars, other new homes entirely. I wondered how the lived with themselves? How they slept at night? I realized I couldn't just let them get away with it, because it happened again. Two weeks later the same three men where accused of raping another girl."

"I made my decision, I discarded my life there as Kate Washburn, local math tutor and waitress. Loaded up what I needed to return back to my dead life and took my sawed off twelve gage and murdered those three men."

Elliot was dumbstruck, she was confessing to another murder, multiple murders even.

"I left that night, and never looked back. I sharpened my skills, learned what I could about picking locks, reading building blueprints and homing my martial arts. Then started sketching. I spent hours reliving that night in my home, recalling their faces and drawing them over and over. I returned to the city a few months ago and started searching for them. I found names, aliases, then photos and then the name of the person that would tie everything together, Lengsfield Philips. The man who ordered the hit on my family and I."

"Then I found out why he ordered the hit, this was a man I had never heard of or had any dealings with, he knew nothing about me or my twins. It was because of Frankie, my widower. It all because of a_—_" she had stop nearly laughing at how ridiculous the reason was behind the hit.

"A court blackmail! My husband took the bribe under faulty intentions and ruled wrong. So, Lengsfield felt it was necessary in punishing him by killing my children and me. He knows you didn't have to kill a person, to kill them. But I lived, that was never part of the plan, but it was integrated into it, rigging my trial was the perfect way in laying the blame on me. Focusing it on someone other then him."

Cate stopped, "That's where I've been and why I've comeback."

Elliot watched her in shock as someone tapped harshly on the mirror again, jarring him back to reality.

"Excuse me." He said quickly leaving the room; Elliot shut the door and held his face catching his breath while leaning up against wall.

"You all right?" Olivia asked touching his arm when he didn't step into the opposite side of the interrogation room.

Elliot nodded, "She's insane, has to be." He whispered to her.

"Have you checked out Wyoming?" Elliot called to Cragen who walked up behind Olivia.

"Fin's on it right now. We have her for six murders and she confesses to three we didn't even know about."

Elliot nodded moving into the double mirror room, seeing John and Doctor George Huang, watching Cate Monty, she hadn't moved from her chair.

"What do you think?" Elliot questioned in George direction.

He leered some to the side, "I'll need more information, ask her about what happened in the house that night. As far text book insanity, I don't see it."

Elliot grasped a bottle of water, cracking the lid and drinking deeply, "Anything else?"

"We assume that her family was killed and that's why she went on this rampage…Ask if she feels that's she a hero to the city. There's a reason why she's not acting hostilely toward you, she doesn't perceive you a threat and she's very open, like she doesn't care if she lives or dies. She's not afraid of prison or the consequences she faces. She thinks the worst thing that could has already happened to her."

Elliot nodded recapping the bottle and returning back to the interrogation room, seating himself.

"What did they tell you to ask me this time?" Cate questioned quietly laying her hands in her lap.

"You know there's something that has been bothering me since the beginning all of this," Elliot baited.

"What?" Cate tilted her head to the side some.

"What do you think you are? A hero? A vigilante? A_—_"

She cut him off. "Don't you know the difference between a hero and a vigilante?"

"No. Enlighten me."

"A hero is named. By a heroic deed, they are everyday, ordinary, _average_ people. When others fled from those instantly created pressures; car wrecks, fires, surfacing assailant or whatever shear terror of whatever _leviathan_ stood daunting before them, he or she stepped in fearless…" she breathed passionately.

"Where as a vigilante is a bastard, a product of bitter-scorn, of uncontrollable hatred, of heinous trauma and is _consumed_ by an insatiable lust for revenge."

"So you're a vigilante?" Elliot concluded.

"No, I just a dead mother. That didn't claim her right to mourn, but will claim her right to vengeance."

"That killed her children."

Cate knew what he was doing and refused to react with scorn, "I didn't kill my children. I could _never_ hurt a child, let alone my own. No parent in their right mind could ever cause intentional harm to their own blood. You're a father, you know that." She gestured her chin in his direction.

Elliot hid his surprise, "What makes you think I'm a father?"

"You walk like a father, move and talk like one. As does you're Captain." Her eyes fluttered toward the window knowing Cragen stood on other side.

She thought about mentioning Olivia, then chose not to.

Elliot decided to move the conversation back a few sentences, "If you didn't mutilate, murder and then burn your children, who did? What happened that night in your home?"

Cate's face shifted quickly as she saw a glimmer of blistering flames in her minds eye, resurrected by Elliot's inquiry.

She brought her hand to her face and bit her thumb nail briefly, trying to decide how to start the tale of that dreaded night.

How it all started on a Tuesday evening in June, the eighth of 1999, six years ago.

"Frankie wasn't home that night, no he probably out fucking one his sectaries, I knew about the affairs, but I couldn't bring myself to confront him about it. I had my school work and two twins to keep up with, so I put him on the backburner."

"I had just put the twins to bed, finished taking my shower and started grading summer school papers. I didn't hear anyone, but it just happened so fast."

"One minute I was grading Lafayette Sorrento's struggling algebra homework, and then next I was clocked across the face with a baton and tied to my bed. 'Make it good,' I heard a voice say, I later found out it was Jack Kershaw who said it. He raped and sodomized me, then he _took_ my daughter, little Michelle…" Cate trailed off lowering her eyes some, reliving and hearing her daughters' screams.

"They each had their ways, cutting and burning. Bale Braddock sodomized my son, Michael." Cate held her breath.

"I've had insomnia ever since that night…I can hear him sometimes at night, crying for me as Braddock _took_ him. And I could do _nothing_." She felt the tears burn her eyes and streak her face before she wiped them away.

"So much pain…And I could do nothing. They are sadists, both living and dead. Then she had her way…That _sadistic_ _bitch_," Cate looked away, the tears drying and rage started to fill her eyes.

"She? Who's _she_?" Elliot inquired bringing her back from the haze of hatred.

Cate smiled tiredly, "Doesn't matter, she's already dead." Cate wouldn't reveal her name.

"You've killed her, then?"

"No, but she's walking dead."

"You won't tell me her name, will you?"

"No."

Elliot nodded coarsely making a few more notes, "What happened next?"

"I'll give you this name, because I can't even find him, but I will, eventually. Jon Rice, he leaned into my mutilated and circumcised body and whispered, 'It's nothing personal. Its just business.' As if that made everything all right, like it justified the killings."

Elliot did his best to hide the surprised at the mention of Jon Rice.

_How does he fit into all of this?_

Other than Cate, he was the most elusive and mysterious individual in this case, Elliot didn't need to, but wrote the name down anyway.

He looked back up at her beckoning her with a look to continue.

"Christopher Harris and Kim Ong killed both my children, snapping their necks. Then they started pouring gasoline all around the house, on my dead children, on me…It burned in my opened wounds, then he torched the place. Used an authentic Zippo too, flipped the hood and dropped it in the room."

"Does _he_ have a name too?"

Cate nodded, "You won't have it, but he's walking dead too."

"Ok, the house is on fire, how did you survive?"

"The fire consumed most of my lower body, then moved up to my torso, arms and part of my face," she moved her neck some to give him a better view of the brunt flesh at her chin and throat, he had already seen it though.

"It burned though ropes at my ankles and singed the tether at my left wrist. I managed to escape, reaching for my dead children and taking them with me. I stumbled out to my front lawn, a mass of burnt flesh and dead to world, cradling my dead children and screaming for help…I don't remember much else about that night."

Cate pressed her hands to her face, wanting to hide from the life changing memories and felt the up and coming drenching sobs. There was tightness in her throat and the agony of showing just how _human_ she really was.

"I woke up in the burn ward at St. Jude's Hospital. My body was wrapped in burn gauze and soon they would start the scar treatment, peeling the brunt flesh off my body with power washers and brushes. It would have worked if the NYPD hadn't cut my treatments short. Imagine my horror when I was the number one suspect in their murders." She interlaced her fingers on the table.

"No one believed me. Frankie abandoned me, leaving me to fend for myself. My trial started and then things started to disappear, medical reports and various items of evidence. What was worst was watching doctors, fellow doctors who had taken the Hippocratic Oath, lying on the witness stand about my injuries. They even said my mutilations where self inflicted. The _circumcision_, the permanent destruction of my sex, wasn't even mentioned. It didn't apparently, have merit. And those doctors knew about it, they had seen it." She brought her fist to her mouth and looked away cringing at the memory.

"I was later evaluated in a psychiatric examination and deemed sane. Then the guilty verdict came about…well, that pretty much brings us up to date." Cate said looking at him, Elliot nodded and finally picking up the manila folder he brought in with him the first time and started laying out the contents.

Photos.

8x10 color glossies of the six men she killed, each image more gruesome and graphic then the next.

Elliot laid them out chronologically, giving Cate time to absorb the images; she didn't falter or feel any remorse.

He pointed to the first, the hanging flayed body of Jack Kershaw.

"Why did you kill him?"

Cate looked up at him like he hadn't heard anything she said to him only minutes ago, but chose to respond, calmly.

"Jack Kershaw, raped and sodomized me, then forced my daughter."

Elliot nodded moving to the next image, the awkwardly spiraled body with the basined head; Mark Garston.

"He wasn't apart of your plan of vengeance was he?"

Cate shook her head, "I went to the Moore Hotel because that was the last place Christopher Harris was listed at. He wasn't there, but I heard the boy, across the room. Whimpering and crying. I killed him. Do you really miss him?" She played with his conscience.

Elliot didn't reply and instead moved on to the next image, the bloated and grayed corpse of Christopher Harris.

"Christopher Harris, he took his fare share of pleasure from my body. He liked to hit, a lot. Then he snapped Michael's neck."

Elliot made a few more notes then moved to the next photo the lacerated body and broken neck of Bensyn Connors.

"Bensyn Connors, he didn't reap my body or that of my children, but he was the one responsible for subduing my body. He turned away when I was raped, he acted like he didn't want to be there. If he was so _human_ and _remorseful_ he would have stopped it. He was just as guilty."

The next image was of the boiled with plastic like skin, the water electrocuted Bale Braddock.

"Bale Braddock, he sodomized my son. Need I say more?"

Then the last image, Kim Ong, the knife protruded immortality in his throat, it would live on forever in the photo.

"Kim Ong, he took pleasure in my suffering to…he like the sight of a razor deepened in my flesh, the red tear like streak it left behind. He killed Michelle too."

Elliot nodded, "One more thing,"

Cate looked at him, wiping the redness from her eyes.

"Do you know what Jon Rice looks like?"

"Yes."

"But you're not going to render for us, are you?"

"No. I'm not."

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"She's not insane." George stated as the watched Elliot finish with her and two uniforms entered the room, cuffing her and escorted her down to a private cell in lock-up.

Fin slipped into the room with a folder in hand, "Wyoming came through," he started, "Jasper Davis, Peter Davis and Jeremiah Winslow, all murdered the same night with the same weapon. It was a cold case. They never found Kate Washburn, but some of her hair follicles where found. The link." Fin handed Cragen a photo of Kate Washburn, an image of a slightly younger Cate Monty looked back at him.

They where a match, though her hair and make-up was different the burn tissue and piercing eyes remained the same.

"I just got off the phone with Sheriff Oscar Davis, apparently he wants her trialed for the three murders. And he wants you to call him back, Cap." Fin concluded and Cragen groaned.

"Do you think it's true? What she said, I mean?" Olivia asked in George's direction.

"About what happened to her family?"

Olivia nodded.

"She believes it," George started staring back into the now empty interrogation room. "But we don't have the evidence to prove it. But she mentioned Jon Rice, 'because I can't even find him, but I will, eventually'." He now was brainstorming, replaying her words aloud; "He's the precursor to all of this."

"And we still don't even know what he looks like." Olivia murmured depressingly.

"She also seemed to resent being called a hero.. .er, vigilante too." John coincided.

George nodded, "She doesn't want to be named, or remembered, it's like she's in it for self-redemption and vengeance for her children. She's not done either, she confessed to that. If she was she would have attempted some sort of suicide by now. It's the vengeance that keeps her alive and if she does somehow complete her vengeance, she'll lose that drive to live…but it's also obvious to me that she doesn't want to live…beyond this. She just doesn't care, that's why she's not acting hostile toward Elliot or the officers." George concluded his eyes moving from one face to another.

"She has a pre-death wish." Fin clarified after George's ramble.

George nodded.

"Doesn't matter, she's going to prison, the evidence is so stacked against her. She even confessed to nine different murders. You may not think she's insane, but I do. Not disrespect to your opinion, Doctor. I've seen serial psychopaths and homicidal sociopaths avoid all obvious evidence and lie constantly that their innocent…She didn't even try." Cragen voiced.

"They where insane, she's not, she just doesn't care. Because she thinks she's is already dead." George rebutted, respectfully.

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"Sheriff Oscar Davis, please," Cragen pressed over the terrible connection.

"_One moment_,"

Silence reigned for several minutes, along with odd clicks, he briefly considered just hanging up and letting this sheriff call him back.

"_Sheriff Davis. Captain Cragen is it_?" Sheriff Oscar Davis's voice cracked over the bitter connection, "_I heard that you nailed the bitch that killed my brothers_."

_Oh, you're colorful_; Cragen observed with stringency, "We have apprehended the woman, Cate Monty—"

"_Cate Monty! That's her name now? That little conniving, burnt cunt."_

"Sir, are you going to insult her or is this conversation going anywhere?" Cragen pressed abrasively while rubbing his eyes.

Oscar huffed rudely over the connection, "_I want to try her here_."

"Excuse me? In Wyoming?"

"_Yes_."

"That's out of the question. I know you want to charge her with the deaths of those three men, then you need to come up here and bring what evidence you have." Cragen replied sitting hard in his swiveling chair.

"_We know she did it. She did leave behind fibers. We just could never find her. She's the biggest scandal to ever hit Waterville. I want to bring closure to those whose lives she ruined. And yes I want her trialed for the murders. I'll see you in a day or so_." The line went dead.

Cragen rolled his eyes and fingered the phone's neck as he sat it back down, _Bring everyone and we'll just have a party_. _Yeah, let's fry her._

With a heavy sigh he picked the phone back up and started dialing, knowing he's have to update the Chief of Detectives about this.

(End Chapter Eleven)

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Review damn it!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

Disclaimer Two: I do not own Charles Dickens's, A Christmas Carol, no concepts or ideas, nadda, never have and never will. But it is an awesome tale, props to Dickens's-man.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, ya'll are the driving and inspirational force that keeps me going. I really appreciate it. Hugs and Texas kisses all-around!

Wolfwood11: Naw, dude, I appreciated that. I also appreciate that you consistently review. And all the weird stuff that happens in my little story is all on purpose and carefully engineered. And Andrew…I'll just leave it at that, nothing to say, yet. Thanks for taking the time to review.

OrionandSilver: Yeah! Who's the baby's daddy! I ani't revealing nothing, yet. Oh, you've pieced so much of the story together. I'm glad you have too, I was worried the long, long chapters would cause readers to miss the clues I've been deliberately dropping everywhere. But maybe not. And yes, poor Cate, but she has overcome and returned with a vengeance! Thanks for your review.

SVU Lover4ever: Ah, that makes me feel so special! But I bet you say that to all the starving writers. Thanks for the praise, I feel honored. (And no, I'm not being sarcastic.)

A/N: The towns and river, Cheyenne and Marfa and the Platte River are real…all the others are made up, same with The Gully, made that up too…the name of my future bar…someday. Yea me.

This is also another one of my favorite chapters! Yeah, hope ya'll like it as much as I do. Rock on!

Also, I'm caught in my end-of-semester time crunch, this may be the last update for a while, ya'll might not get another one for several days, next Saturday most likely. But a butt load of reviews might make me push to update sooner…

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Strip search wasn't necessary under the bizarre circumstances; Cate had just been released from the hospital. So she wasn't probed to search for weapons or drugs, her doctors had already done that.

But Cate Monty was relieved of her shoelaces and escorted by two uniforms and Elliot to the left wing of temporary lock-up, the last cell; she the only occupant of the wing too.

It would be her home until arraignment and trial. The cell was simple, a spring-less mattress on a wall bolted bed frame, with harsh sheets and a flat pillow, a stainless steel sink next to a stainless steal toilet with no tank, along with one roll of cheap paper, a window; it was steel barred and covered with thick glass.

There was nothing else.

Cate was left alone to her own wicked vice of escaping from the cell. She waited for nearly ten minutes before she started inspecting the cell for imperfections and flaws.

Running fluid fingers over the corners, edges and seals of the paint coated cinder block walls.

Noting the several graffiti marks on the cell walls from its previous inhabitants; crude deceptions of genitalia both male and female, derogatory labels, racial slurs and stereotypical claims along with _colorful_ poems, curses and rants, gang signs and affiliation marks, even small stick figures, bumping and humping, thumping and grinding, vulgar and blotchy but relayed the meaning with clarity, the history of the cell went on and on.

One small stanza in particular caught her eye: 'I had you mom, I had your dad, tell you what they both weren't too bad.'

Then there was the cell lock, she wouldn't risk tampering with it, yet, it was the older type of lock too.

This was just a temporary lock-up cell; they weren't magnetized like prison locks. Cate doubted anything in her cell would be of much use in forcing it; she could strip the screws from the hanging bed frame later tonight in an attempt.

Then there was the toilet, nothing of use there she concluded after she was done probing the bowl and pipeline joining it.

The sink proved just as useless as the mattress did.

Frustrated, she knelt into a cross-legged position on the cool concrete floor, mediation always helped in situations like this.

She rarely did it anymore.

_When did I stop again?_

Cate counted back the days.

_After I killed Kershaw…That's when I stopped._

Adam warned her about that, once you start you can't stop…

…_taking lives._

Annoyed at how right he was, Cate chose to rectify the situation and mediate some.

She was so lost in thought she didn't hear her first of many visitors approach her cell, some would come in secret with cloaks and daggers, others blatantly with curious intentions.

"Does that clear your conscious of guilt?"

Cate opened her eyes to see John Munch and George Huang standing on the opposite side of the cell door.

Cate didn't respond to the raw and stinging question from the gentlemen with the shaded glasses, instead stood before them both, "Which one of you _told_ Stabler what to ask me?"

The two suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"It was a nice idea having him _bait_ me and _relive_ the worst night of my life. Did it help in your assessment of my _sanity_?" She added stepping closer to the bars.

"Your very smart, Cate." George observed.

"You know my name, but I haven't had the pleasure…"

"Doctor George Huang," he brushed his hand toward his counterpart, "Detective John Munch."

"Doctor," she purred. "But not a doctor of medicine…At least not physical medicine. No, you're a doctor of the mind," Cate tapped at her temple and moved closer to the bars this time gripping them.

"So tell me _Doctor_, in your professional opinion, am I insane?"

George didn't move back from the bars, he was in her fatal reach, but was calling her bluff, she wouldn't attack him. This new behavior was a front.

"No, and you know that."

"Is this a pych. evaluation? It may be more suited to an interrogation room." Cate added moving away from the bars and taking an uncomfortable seat on spring-less mattress, creaking the hanging frame.

"No, I just wanted to talk with you. May I come in?"

"Of cou_—_"

"That's not such a good idea." John interjected.

"He could be right," she piped up, "I could take you hostage, then use you as a human shield. Take his gun from him and beat him to death with it. Wreak all sorts of havoc on your station. Then escape once again into the city's underworld and finish my vengeance." Cate intimidated stretching one leg on the bed.

George didn't falter, "No you won't, Cate."

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Because we haven't done anything to you, we didn't burn or rape you or kill your children. You've been very cooperative since you've been here. Detective Stabler tried repeatedly to bait and enrage you. Each time you showed self control, you don't want to act hostile against us, because you save your aggression for them. You're not threatened by us and you don't have any fatal intentions against us. So drop the hostility toward me." George deemed calmly and passionately.

Cate smiled and looked out the thick glass window, "Maybe I should have majored in psychology instead of advanced mathematics."

"Open the cell," George murmured to John, who crossed his arms in defiance.

"George," John started.

He held up his hand, "She's not going to do anything."

Cate was now watching them both murmur quietly like she wasn't there.

"Ok, if she somehow slits your throat with that bed sheet, Cragen will have your ass, not mine."

_Well if I'm dead it won't matter will it?_, "I'll accept full responsibility, if there are any repercussions." George said confidently.

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this..." John said under his breath, "Eugene! Will you open this cell, please?" He called to guard down the corridor. A few seconds later Eugene keyed the cell door and the two entered, he shut it behind them.

Cate didn't move from her position but did draw one leg beneath her, still watching them.

He was right.

She wouldn't attack them, not unless they attacked her. Cate hoped it wouldn't come to that either, but she had a feeling most of the officers in the station wanted to take a potshot at her, in more ways then one.

"May I have a seat?" George gestured with his hand to the other side of the bed.

"Certainly," she shifted some and George took a seat beside her.

They talked for nearly an hour, like old friends who ran into each other at a coffee shop and spent time over the cooling and ridiculously expensive lattés, catching up on the passed years, slipping into an instant sync.

They talked about her past, topics ranging from her time in the Army, Frankie Monty, the people who killed her family and burned her, then on to more narrow and razor subjects, like her circumcision and the rape.

Then on to ill-circumstances of floating from town to town and state to state over the last six years, to places that no one's ever heard of and the occupants there had never heard of Cate Monty, the few she thought were worth mentioning:

Tally, New York, were she mocked as the waitress Lily Waters, who had a comfort level with dime book romances.

Isaiah, Alabama, she was the librarian Connie Branch, who would noodle on the weekends with the local old-timers.

Hell, Texas, she tutored teenagers under the name Natalie Boar and would make the four mile walk to Marfa on clear nights to ponder the mysterious lights.

Baytown, Florida, bartended at The Gully as Katie Montgomery and listened to depressed alcoholics mourn their lost careers and families, due to the burning addiction from the bottle.

Blue Creek, Montana, found some peace working in a kitchen at the Walters Horse Ranch and learned to ride as Mora Sanders.

Match, Arizona, she learned bits of Navajo while working at a roadside café and gas station as Kylie Hightower.

Joanna, Louisiana, lived in a shotgun double, tutored the unruly teenagers next door in exchange for Cajun and Creole cooking as Cate Starr.

And finally Waterville, Wyoming, she intended to end her journey there, tired of uprooting every time she saw a suspicious shadow. Things were fine for three years, then that trial and scandal occurred, drastically ending her new life and sending her back down the path of her old one.

People would always look at her differently due to the noticeable burn tissue; Cate would always tell the ones brave enough to ask that she was in a house fire. Kept to the core of what was fact and didn't go beyond that.

Avoided any physical or emotional relationships with the opposite sex or that of her own.

Who'd love or sleep with a dead woman?

Especially one so damaged and mutilated.

Occasionally John would drop a cynical remark or off-color comment and Cate acted like he wasn't there.

George's theories where realized as he listen to her; she really didn't care is she lived, died or went to prison,

"_At least I would be there for something I am guilty of."_

"_Do you feel remorse for what you did? That it was wrong."_

"_Yes, I know it is wrong to take a life. But I don't regret it."_

"_So you think you did the city a favor? Murdering those rapists, child molesters and drug dealers."_

"_I'm not doing this to clean up the city; I'm doing this to bring justice to the deaths of my children."_

"_Do you think you're a hero?"_

"_No, I'm just a dead mother." _

She didn't want to be a hero, as some of the cities' inhabitants were portraying her as; she was more vigilante than anything.

Saving Petra Ramirez, Nathan Throne, encouraging Edward Sauls to change and impacting the countless other individuals, that would never come forward, were the best examples to attest and affirm that fact.

Those people where there and needed her help so she stepped in, at the right time and right place. It wasn't intentional, just fate, if you believe in things like that.

Cate Monty wasn't insane.

No, she just didn't care about the consequences she faced.

Cate Monty felt she was dead, George Huang didn't though, she was far too vibrant and deep to be dead.

But through it all, she had a death wish.

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After George and John left, Cate started exercising in the cell, determined to regain the muscle mass she lost during her coma.

Crunches to sit-ups, push-ups and wall push-ups and pull-ups using the top bar brace of her cell.

She had worked up quite a sweat and healthy glow when her next group of visitors could be heard storming down the hall. After quickly flushing her face with water and wiping it off with the bed sheet, she started to focus on the loud and hostile conversation.

"Where is my client?"

_Client? Ah, damn…They provided me with a lawyer. _

"In her cell." Cragen replied.

"I assume she was advised of her rights?"

Cate walked over to the pea-green painted, cool steel bars and leaned against them, palming the long cylinders lightly.

"Of course. But she already confessed."

"Confessed! Without lawyer advisement? I'll have this thrown out of court!"

"No, she_—_"

"This is a violation of her rights as an American citizen."

"She's illegally dead."

"Then you won't mind releasing her into my custody."

"That is out of the question."

"Then her confession is inadmissible. I am also asking for a psychiatric evaluation. Aw, here we are, Ms. Monty."

Cate eyed the lawyer, _Nice suit…Rolex…Metro-sexual…And slimy. _

"I'm Vahik Aboolian, your lawyer." He thrust his hand fearlessly through the bars causing Cate to take a surprised step back, then cautiously shook it.

"I want a private room to confer with my client, now." He demanded, his voice turning to an almost liquid honey, dripping with confidence in Cragen's direction.

Cragen looked to Eugene who shrugged, keying the cell door again, handcuffed her and then escorted her to a private room, left alone with Vahik Aboolian and a uniform.

Cate nearly spent an hour listening to him ramble about how they had that this case in the bag. She wouldn't be going to go prison; if anything she would be going to an insane asylum. With the psych. evaluation (he didn't even have yet), he was going to pull for an insanity plea. And have her confession entered as inadmissible, because he wasn't present.

Cate acted polite and finally concluded that he liked to hear himself talk. He wasn't in it in the name of justice; he was in it for the press.

This was going to be a massive and highly publicized trial.

"Especially that the city knows your story. Murdered children, betrayed by your husband and the court system. The people are on your side, you're a hero. And then think of all the protesters."

"Protesters?" Cate's heart fell, it was never supposed to be like this, she didn't want support or a following, she just wanted to finish it.

"Oh yeah, you're an inspiration…" He continued to ramble about all the possibilities of beating the system.

He was cocky and overly confident; Vahik Aboolian was the sort of man that gave the profession of lawyer an ill reputation.

"I will see you at arraignment; it was a pleasure Ms. Monty." He concluded their private meeting, produced his hand again waiting for her to shake it, she took it and he turned to leave.

Cate was about to be cuffed again when she had an idea, "Mr. Aboolian,"

He turned to her and flashed his gleaming teeth, like a vicious and predatory animal.

"Do you have a card?" Cate asked meekly, with one cuff already clicked about her right wrist, the uniform standing behind her.

"Oh, yes. Sorry I forgot about that." He reached into the breast pocket of the dark blazer and handed her a very expensive business card, with his information printed on thick, threaded paper.

_Perfect. _

Cate slipped it into her front jeans pocket, "Thank you. Thank you for all your help." She moved her wrist to her back and allowed the officer to finish cuffing her.

Within minutes she was placed in the same cell and left alone again.

She pulled the hardly bent business card out of her pocket and smiled at the thick, chunky ink.

"Thanks for giving me the key out of this cell, Mr. Aboolian." Cate whisper to the unforgiving walls, placed the card on top of the messed-up bed and started to exercise again, the rain pattered rhythmically against the thick glass window.

Cate wished she could taste and feel it, instead of just watching it.

She knew she would soon enough.

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"You fuckin' bitch!"

The highly insulting and accusatory statement bounced off the cinder block walls and echoed down the corridor, creating catcalls and hisses from the occupants of the right wing of lock-up.

Cate was in the middle of a crunch when the assaulting words registered in her ears; she sat up and looked to the cell door.

A woman of mixed ethnicity stood at the bars, wrapped in a maroon fringe leather jacket, with a very pissed look on her face.

"That may be," Cate stood and moved toward the bars, highly insulted at the label, "Who in the _fuck_ are you?"

"Did you know!" She demanded moving closer to the bars.

"Know what?"

"Bitch, don't finger me!" She hissed jabbing a fist at Cate; she felt her hackles rise at the possible attack.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Cate replied spreading her arms to emphasize, "You're not my type."

"Answer my question. Did you know?"

Cate moved around in the cell, "I don't even know who you are or what you're talking about."

"Kim Ong."

"What about the fuck?"

"His little _business_. Did you know about it?"

"What are you talking about?" Cate was genuinely lost and glanced over to the rain wet glazed window.

"The warehouse basement of sex-slaves! Those little kids…" She trailed off, feeling a hiss of tears at the mention of those innocent children, "Why didn't you help them, like you did Petra Ramirez and Nathan Thorne?"

Cate looked up, seeing her weep at the statement, _Sex-slaves? _

Cate moved over to the young woman, standing only inches apart due to the bars and started to whisper for sake of the drastic change of mood, "Kim Ong, he was housing sex-slaves," she nodded. "You said children, I'm assuming abducted children." She nodded again, "How many?"

"Thirty-eight."

"I didn't know. Had I, I would have gone there first. Make no mistake, Ma'am, I would have done something." Cate said sternly, the young woman looked up, "Would you?" Not quite believing, spiteful still.

"Yes." _And if he has anymore houses I will find them and take care of the fucks holding them._

The young woman ran a hand across her face and looked down the corridor to see the guards Eugene and Maxwell eyeing her, then quickly look away.

"'Oory, it's just that…I was there. I saw them. I had never been so disgusted and enraged at the same time in my entire life. It shouldn't have happened to them…or anyone." She murmured, confused at the same time, wondering why she was confessing this to a homicidal vigilante; showing her maternal and human underbelly to a person who's killed at least nine people, each murder more brutal than the last.

"I know. Who are you?"

She looked up, "Detective Nadia Sands, I've been on your case from the very beginning."

Cate nodded, "Well, Detective Sands, don't beat yourself up about the children. You didn't know, but you stepped in to help them didn't you?" Cate moved away from the bars and seated herself on the creaking bed frame.

"Yes." Nadia nodded.

"You acted in accordance with the law."

"Yes."

"Saw to it they had medical attention and a way home."

"Yes."

"Then you've done everything to the best of your ability. Even clearing your mind of any possibility that I knew and did nothing."

Nadia felt naked all of the sudden, she was being brought back to earth by a murderer.

_This is grounds for suspension. I shouldn't even be talking to her. _

"Detective Sands," she drew Nadia from her thoughts. "Get out of here and help someone who needs to be rescued and can be saved. Stop wasting time on me, I'm beyond redemption and lecture." Cate said in her teacher like tone.

Nadia nodded and was about to leave when a particular question nibbled at her temple, "Why don't you carry weapons?"

Cate looked at her perplexed, no one had asked why she didn't carry her own weapons or her how she managed to get to into the various homes, _How observant of her to ask, not even Georgey-Boy thought to. Stabler should have, because I won't be here next time. _

"I never had a use for weapons since I came back to the city. Why carry them when the city and their homes provide me with ample means of permanent incapacitation. Except for my virgin kills…As for that sawed off twelve gage, I discarded it long ago. It's a rut for pan-fish now." Cate answered calmly, _Rotting on the floor of the Platte River._

Nadia tilted her head slightly, more disturbed at how calm Cate was when she said that, then left without saying another word.

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Cate had her head against the cold and rain fogged glass window, slowly starting to develop cabin fever, _And its only the first day._

She had given up for the evening on mediating and exercising and was wondering when she would have her evening meal and shower.

Also wondering when the opportunity for escape would come about, her eyes gazed over to Vahik Aboolian's business card still lying on the sterile flat pillow, she intended to be on the streets again before arraignment or sooner.

Cate wasn't so lost in thoughts of escape and food, not to hear her fourth visitor's heels click on the paint slick concrete walk.

_Great, what ghost is coming to visit me now?_

Cate had noticed the odd and twisted similarities of her imprisonment with that of Charles Dickens's, A Christmas Carol, one ghost after another appearing in her presence.

She kept expecting Lengsfield Philips's angel of death to return and finish what he or she had started.

_Maybe they've wised up this time and will just use a machinegun to cut me in two, no more of these pussy-shit attempts, cutting my arteries, burning me alive or injecting me with rattlesnake venom. Just kill me and make sure I'm dead before you slip away into the dark…Cowards. _

The steps came to a halt outside her cell, Cate leaned back some eyeing the distorted figures' reflection in the foggy window.

Then finally gave in and turned to face the bleary enigma.

Olivia Benson.

Cate couldn't hide her surprise and confusion.

After the broken and one-sided conversation at the hospital, Olivia was the last person Cate expected to see darkening the doorway of her cell.

Olivia seemed just as confused, as if she wasn't sure why she stood there either.

Neither spoke for nearly a minute, Cate did it out of respect; the ball was in Olivia's court after her comment nearly five hours ago.

"How did you know?" Olivia whispered finally shattering the porcelain silence.

"About your pregnancy?"

Olivia nodded tiredly, eyes dry and red with wonder and worry.

"My great-grandmother educated me herbal medicines and mid-wifing. We were always going to some sort of birth, whether it was horse or human…When ever I was at Sage for the summer, we would wind up bringing some sort life into this world." Cate turned her focus back on Olivia, "I knew you were pregnant the second you and Stabler walked into my recovery room."

Olivia was about to speak, when Cate interrupted her, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

"Is it?"

"Why would I tell? And who? What for? Blackmail? I can't gain anything from you. I have no reason to _screw_ you. I already feel terrible about darting you." Cate apologized, genuinely.

_Great, she feels remorse for darting me, but not for her murders. Would I, if I was in her position? What if it is true?_

Olivia chose to let the subject drop, for some odd reason she trusted her about the life altering secret. It was as if Cate was nothing but a burnt husk of secrets and horrors, just another _truth_ locked away in her psyche and would be taken with her to death.

_If she ever died. _

She thought about the misfire and the old woman's words on that stoop in the slum.

"Who was the woman in the slum?" Olivia ventured without thinking and nearly clamped her palm over her mouth in a pubescent fashion.

Cate cut her eyes in Olivia's direction, peering through the near white, stringy and oily hair.

"What woman?" She was intrigued.

"African-American, elderly, carried a white-bone cane. Lives in the building across from yours." Olivia profiled.

Cate turned pale, "What did she say to you?"

_This is a bad idea_,Olivia started to backtrack; suddenly she didn't want to know.

She continued at Olivia's silence, "You described Dolorous, she's an urban legend. Look it up…haven't you ever seen a ghost, Detective Benson?" Cate questioned with leer.

Thoughts of F10, the Irish banshee, the image in the mirror and snake-like scar burned in Olivia's mind's eye and she felt a wicked chill lick her spine.

Cold, so utterly cold and disturbed.

"Don't you know your looking at a ghost?"

Olivia turned her heel quickly, nearly losing balance, _This is just too weird._

The rattled detective walked quickly down the hall, her steps echoing rapidly off the cinderblock walls, hormones at full tilt and reeking havoc on her emotions.

Cate didn't say another word in her direction.

_I've done enough to her._

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An hour after she alienated Olivia and disturbed Nadia; Cate was escorted to the unisex prisoner shower, were she was watched by two female uniforms while she bathed, as a precaution.

It didn't bother her much, Cate had a feeling they weren't looking at her body, it was too grotesque for them, well at least the front was. Her back had remained virtually untouched by the fire.

After her cold shower, with cheap soap, no shampoo and powdery deodorant, she was escorted back to her cell, in the same donated hospital clothing, which sort of defeated the purpose of the shower.

Nearly an hour later her evening meal was severed; chunky, lukewarm cheeseburger, a tangy Styrofoam cup of water, pasty fries and a mesh of spinach, the lance against the fiend anemia.

After the meal, she removed the lace-less shoes, over-shirt and the faded worn jeans, folding them neatly on the floor next to the hanging bed; she would sleep in the thin tank top and underwear…at least for the first few hours.

She stretched, about to slip under the coarse bed sheet when her fifth visitor arrived, timidly.

Cate noticed the pale blue heels first in the shadows of the hallway adjoining the cell, then the hosiery, and combining, yet clashing gray skirt and pale blue button up top.

Her face seemed very familiar, then Cate almost instantly recognized her from Lee Apartments, the woman called 9-1-1 and helped her carry Kershaw's last victim.

_Why is she here? _

Then had a horrible vision and epiphany materialized in her mind, _What if she's Lengsfield Philips's assassin?_

On edge as she eyed the blonde, she finally chose to speak, "What are you doing here?"

"So you recognize me."

Cate nodded, half expecting her to produce a shotgun, screaming vengeance for Jack Kershaw and all the others in the name ofLengsfield Philips.

She didn't.

"I'm Casey Novak, the ADA for Special Victims."

"Small world," Cate felt her hackles lower. "How's the girl?"

"She made it. Out of the hospital and everything."

Cate nodded, she had wondered about the girl ever since that night.

"I—I want to thank you." Casey stammered.

The _thanks_ caused Cate to look at her in surprise; no one had thanked her for any of this and she didn't ask for it either, she was selfish in her vengeance. It was for her and no one else, as for the people she helped along the way; Petra Ramirez, Nathan Throne and Edward Sauls just to name a few, they where there and she wouldn't leave them to their demise, but she didn't go out looking for them either.

"For what?"

"Jack Olen, I mean Kershaw, he worked in my building. Handyman, but I guess you knew that already." Casey responded.

Cate merely nodded, it was no coincidence that she knew were Jack Kershaw was working and living. He was the easiest to track down too.

"He was in my apartment repairing a leak in my sink the night you…I was going to go out to drinks with him that evening after he got off his shift. I could have been his next…" Casey trailed off and found herself staring at her pale blue heals, focusing on a scuff on the toe.

"But you weren't, you where in the lobby to help her. He _placed_ you there, it was his undoing in a way. You had greater purpose that night, to help her and you did." Cate didn't know where these words of comfort where coming from or why these people kept coming to her but she took it in stride, as most things.

Casey nodded, "You saved my—"

Cate cut her off holding up a finger, "I didn't save you. Make no mistake Ms. Novak, I was only there to kill him. Not to save you or the girl, even though I did. It was a coincidence, nothing more." That was it, Cate ended the conversation.

Casey shook her head, feeling it was more, like fate, that night made her realize how lucky and fortunate she was, then she shrugged coming to her senses, _She's just a killer. She's no different from any of the others. She doesn't even feel remorse. Not a hero or vigilante, just fucked-up in the head._

Casey turned to leave, she had Cate Monty's arraignment to prepare for, she was seeking life imprisonment, with no chance of parole.

As for Vahik Aboolian threats about throwing out Cate's confession…Well, lets just say Satan would getting brain-freezes off shushes in his office, before she was going to allow that to happen.

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The Twenty-Ninth Day

September 6, 2005 Tuesday

Vince Connors, Damien Burroughs, Manuel Montero and Jina Farlane were back together again for another night of playing cloak and dagger.

The precinct was nearly deserted at 3:16 a.m, the graveyard shift, thin and sickly.

The four entered though a side door after being met by one of Vince's police implants.

Corrupt Officer Jimmy O'Malley led them to the left wing lock-up, taking his two-grand bribe from Vince; he palmed the heavy envelope, as Vince passed out the other two bribes to the other two officers posted at the threshold of the wing.

"Take a coffee break, for at least an hour and half. Don't let anyone come up here." Vince said sternly to the three corrupt officers who nodded holding their dirty money concealed in clean, fresh envelopes.

"You can't kill her though, that's not what we agreed to." Jimmy reminded handing him the appropriate cell key.

"We won't, we just want to _talk_ to her." Vince smiled shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, after taking the key.

"I'm sure…Ok boys lets take a powder." Jimmy instructed to his two subordinates as they left.

Vince Connors, Damien Burroughs, Manuel Montero and Jina Farlane approached the last cell in the semidarkness, whereas Cate had be well wake for the last twenty minutes or so, dressed again and was working fevered and patiently picking the cell lock with the tightly rolled Vahik Aboolian business card.

Intently listening to the various clicks within the spring-lock, making progress until she heard the approaching multiple footsteps.

Her sixth ghost had arrived.

Cate jerked her arm while she pulled it back into the cell, enduring the hot pinch in her shoulder while backing up against the wall adjoining the bars, listening to the steps.

_This is it_, the tempers of pissed cops coming her way to take their shots at the vigilante, the killer.

Or so she believed.

Most of the lights were out in the hallway creating shadows everywhere; Cate held her breath and crouched against the wall.

Four figures appeared at the doorway finally, each brandishing a Billy club, one keyed the lock, and none of them had noticed her, folded in the corner, yet.

Cate sized and observed them silently, as they entered and shifted her sheets, in annoyance one of them turned and his face was lit up by one the rays of light cast from a florescent in the hallway.

Her mouth dropped as she found herself looking at a younger Bensyn Connors.

Lost in the surprise Cate was spotted in the cell, forcefully cursed at and smashed up against the painful bars of the cell, wrists restrained by Damien and Manuel.

All the oxygen left in body in shock as her head started to throb from bars.

A gloved hand intertwined in her hair and pulled, "Do you know who I am?" Vince hissed as he abused his father's murder.

"Yes, you're a spiting image of your father." Cate sneered purposely pouring salt in the wound.

Vince lost his composure and hit her hard across her face, she felt her both her lips burst and the iron tasting, cherry colored fluid sprayed across Manuel's face, he ignored it.

"Why'd you kill him?" Vince demanded, gripping her hair harder.

"Because he participated in the murders of my children and the burning of my body!" Cate spat.

"Lair! He wouldn't do that!"

"Yes he did. You know your father wasn't a saint, he was nothing but a drug dealer and gunrunner. You know that!" Her voice carried down the corridor.

They were blessed that lock-up was empty in the right wing at the moment, or else every uniform not corrupt would have been notified about their _visitation_.

"He just stood there, as my son and daughter were sodomized and raped by his counterparts. And he did nothing!" She screamed passionately.

Vince shuddered at her words, refusing to believe and hit her in the stomach hard out of anger for what she said and had done.

She gasped at the mind blinding pain and leaned over some, gasping for air, like a fish out of water.

Damien forced her back against the bars, knocking her skull again in the process.

"You killed the wrong man. You left my mother widowed and my sisters without a father." Vince accused.

"What…about me? My…children? He helped in…destroying my life…and family." Cate retorted through wet gasps of air, Vince hit her again, this time she wasn't allowed to fall forward.

Through the drenching sobs Vince leaned in so she could hear, "You're so fucked-up in the head, you know that. He didn't do anything too you or your children. You mutilated, you molested—"

"No I didn't!"

"Yes-you-did! You raped your _own_ children and burned them _alive_, you-sick-fuck!" Vince screamed into her face, spittle peppering her features.

Cate was overcome with rage and reacted like a caged animal, lashing out at Vince first shifty kicking him the in groin.

As he collapsed, Jina stepped in hissing and calling her a bitch then raised the Billy club about to crush her skull with it.

Cate held back and ducked at the last minute, the club rattled across the bars above her head and connected with Damien's temple, causing him to release his grip on her wrist, following Vince to the floor.

Jina raised the club again only for Cate to wrap her fingers around the black cylinder extremely quickly, catching Jina off guard, at the same time Cate wrapped her right leg around Manuel's right leg, and pulled hard.

The three jerked back and fourth as Damien lay unconscious on the hard floor and Vince tried to regain his footing, seething though the throbbing pain in his crotch.

Manuel's patience was wearing thin as Cate jerked and twisted against his body, finally he grasped her throat causing her to let go of Jina's club and claw at his death grip.

The oxygen started to escape her lungs; she had a vision of Kim Ong's asphyxiation from only a few days ago, she tried vainly to pull his hand from her throat while he continued to crush.

Vince was now on his knees, Jina helping him and Damien still incapacitated and Manuel continued to hold her left wrist and bear down dominantly on her throat, withering and fighting for air while her other hand was pinned to the bars, she saw only one alternative, to let go of her hold of Manuel's throat grip.

Cate shoved her thumb into Manuel's left eye socket, using her other fingers as a base, embedding them into his scalp and shoved her thumb deeper until he screamed and released her throat and pawed at his bleeding eye.

Cate let go of his face and collapsed against the cell bars, sucking in fevered breaths and holding her throbbing throat.

It was Jina's turn to redeem herself for knocking Damien cold, still crouched as she cursed at Cate again, raising the Billy club only to have Cate violently wrestle it from her grip and connect it across her mouth, loosening a tooth and a back filling in the process.

Fumbling for the bars behind her while she tried to stand and breathe, this was her chance, most of them were incapacitated in some way, the perfect time for her make her flight, she was done fighting.

Manuel was moaning on the cold concrete floor shifting through the blood streaming from his socket, Jina reeling from the agony at her mouth, Damien still out cold and Vince had nearly recovered.

Cate stepped around the cell door barefoot, at a run, the Billy club still in her grasp as Vince stumbled out the door, pulled his Glock out of its shoulder holster, thankful he had minded in screwing the silencer on, leveled it, not caring about what he and Officer Jimmy O'Malley had agreed too; not to kill Cate Monty.

_Fuck that. _

He pulled the trigger, multiple times.

Cate screamed feeling the hot lead sear through her shoulder, another one through her lower calf.

The force knocked her to the cold concrete, the club clattered in her fingers, thoroughly banging and bruising her body in the process.

Vince stood harshly having unloaded an entire clip into Cate and the adjoining cinderblock walls.

Puffs of cinderblock and gun smoke now filled the hazy hall.

Vince removed the empty clip and allowed it to clash floor, then reloaded the Glock as he walked, chambering a new round.

Cate hissed for breath but didn't move or fidget, waiting for Vince to approach.

"I know Lucifer has a special place in Hell for you, for all the rapist of children." Vince hissed leveling the Glock at her unprotected back.

She sobbed for air, wetly, lying on the growing rose blossom of blood, coating the pea-green painted concrete floor, inhaling the smell of wet iron mingled with gunfire and musk of cinderblock.

Vince didn't expect her to fight back, but she did.

Cate rolled halfway on to her side at the last minute and used her good leg to sweep Vince off his feet.

The Glock discharged with a sharp, quiet hiss into the foam tiled ceiling above them as he collapsed.

His Glock with one round less and the silencer still securely screwed on the barrel, rattled out of his grip and hung on a nearby unoccupied cell's bar. Just out of his reach.

Cate crawled awkwardly to his body, moved onto sore knees for more leverage, and clocked Vince across his temples with the Billy club, knocking him out cold.

Breathing hard, knowing she had only seconds to escape, she reached for the silencer Glock, hoping she wouldn't have to use it.

Standing on sore joints and wounded calf, she continued to walk quickly out of the wing, totally lost.

Moving down hallways only to find dead ends or uniforms congregating over coffee, searching for that lovely glowing and red sign, that preached the word; EXIT.

She was leaving a blood trail in doing so, nothing she could do about that, and she was barefoot to begin with.

Bending toenails and burning her feet on the carpeted sections of the station, creping around corners and seriously considering calling the New York Fire Department about the lack of fire exit signs posted in the hallways.

Then, eureka, an exit.

Cate slid over to it with sticky footsteps reading the sign posted on the door, 'Fire Alarm Will Sound When Opened', an emergency exit.

Cate shrugged at the warning, _These cops could use some excitement right about now._

With a mischievous smirk she shoved the lever and the siren sounded overhead, complete with rotating red lights.

Once over the threshold she found herself in a side alley, with rain still pouring from the night sky, she didn't bother top stop to bask in the drops and instead started to run with awkward steps, the blood oozing off her clothing.

The sirens started to fade as she ran barefoot over glass and debris in the alleyway, then adjoining alleys and streets, ignoring the throb in her calf.

She didn't stop until she finally found herself in an empty alley, back against a sun rotted brick wall, slouched next to a rusting trashcan, the sirens had faded in her ears, replaced by the patter of rain and that of agitated opera music emitted from a record player some apartment stories above her.

Cate smiled and discarded the Billy club and Glock into the rusty trashcan next to her and stepped out into the rain, spreading her arms and allowing the rain to wash her body free of blood and sin.

She spun freely, laughing, everything was perfect, the rain and the shaky opera music, it was bliss in the alley, a wonderful soundtrack to her freedom.

_I am free. Free to finish and free to die… _

(End Chapter Twelve)

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Come on, review…u know u wanna.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

Declaimer Two: Nor do I own Carolyn Barek, Mike Logan, Alexandra Eames or Robert Goren. All belong to Dick Wolf and Company.

A/N: Yeah! On a happy Shellster note…my muse came back! **TOTALLY RADICAL!**

'K, I'm done with that…yeah…ok…anyway my muse returned…ah this is great. But he came back at really hectic time, finals and stuff…it's really hard to concentrate on my studies and essays with him bouncing about my little mind. Oh well, Holiday Break is on its way, then he will get to come out and play…yes…oh yes…anyway hope ya'll like this one.

Oh and more gross stuff in this chapter…like for real _eeewww_…this ain't for the squeamish…speaking of which I had a squeamish misadventure over the Thanksgiving Break too…aw, big brother's do stupid things, but that's another story.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, ya'll rock!

Oh, the story about Dolorous Boar is made up too…yeah…ok I'm done.

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It was beyond chaotic in the precinct the night Cate Monty escaped during the graveyard shift.

With fire sirens echoing throughout the station and rotating red lights; corrupt officer Jimmy O'Malley and his two subordinates stumbled into Cate's wing, inhaling the sharp scent of blood, coarse cinderblock grounded their nasal passages and gun smoke burned their tear ducts.

"Ah, fuck!" Jimmy yelled grabbing his head upon seeing the unconscious Vince Connors on the floor and his counterparts were stumbling out of Cate's cell, holding Damien up as they trudged down the hallway, Manuel leaving Jina's side to carry Vince himself.

"We were never here. Understand me?" Jina hissed with slurred words at the dumbstruck officers.

"What happened? Where is she!" Jimmy ignored her.

"We were never here!" She repeated, holding Damien up awkwardly.

They ignored his continued ranting and left the wing. Escaping barely into the rain as Cate did only minutes ago.

Jimmy O'Malley knew it would be only minutes before other officers rushed to the wing, and they had no alibi. With no other alternative they played dumb, rushing from the wing and evacuated the building as the New York Fire Department trucks rolled in.

Meanwhile, as the station was thrown into anarchy, the Squad was each at their own home, relaxing at their own pace, basking in comfort that they had a confession from Cate Monty, she was in custody and arraignment would be in two days, the case was nearly over The entire fiasco would be sealed away in a folder and forgotten.

Yeah right.

Olivia Benson was cuddled up on her armchair, asleep with a pregnancy book sliding from her grasp. On her way home she stopped at a nearby bookstore and picked up various books on pregnancy and parenting, seeing as she had made her mind up, she was going through with it; taking responsibility.

Spent the evening leafing through the various pages and reading passages alone, then a few hours ago phoned a dear friend. The only person she felt she could trust enough, and confide in at the moment. Her captain, partner and the Squad would have to wait.

So she called up Detective Carolyn Barek, who had recently transferred into Major Case, were she would be partnered with Mike Logan and work along side the dynamic duo; Alexandra Eames and Robert Goren.

Carolyn and Olivia went to the academy together. She was her support when she thought she was pregnant then, even went to the pharmacy with her to help her pick out the right test too.

She was so supportive.

Both times too, then and now.

They had a wonderful heart to heart and Carolyn vowed to back her one-hundred percent.

Although Carolyn did sound distracted and tired, she merely said it was because a really tough case she was working on and didn't bother elaborating beyond that. Olivia didn't press either.

Olivia decided she was going to tell Cragen and Elliot, but only when the Monty case was cleared up.

When Cate Monty was behind bars—_penitentiary_ bars—and she had a breather, she would tell Elliot first, then Cragen and then the Squad. But she had a sneaking suspicion that Nadia already knew and that everyone else suspected something.

In addition to Cate Monty's shocking words at St. Marks, which was a wake up call to Olivia about how real the situation was, if Cate could tell then, others were going to be able to tell too, sooner if not later.

For nearly an hour Olivia stripped down to her undergarments and found herself staring into her full-length mirror.

Turning from side to side, running calloused fingers over her lower abdomen, looking for that little rise under the skin, it was there, small, but she noticed it.

Olivia also made an appointment with an Obstetrician, tomorrow at 1:55; she would go during her the tail end of her lunch hour.

What was even more disturbing, other then Cate Monty herself, was what she said about the old woman in the slum, Cate dubbed as Dolorous, the urban legend. She did research it out of curiosity; Olivia didn't like what she found either.

Dolorous Boar, she died in the early sixties in that very slum. Her four children had been murdered under reasons that today standards would classify as a hate crime. So Dolorous went vigilante as Cate did, and died doing so.

Olivia refused to believe she saw a ghost.

But she saw something she couldn't explain.

Elliot Stabler had spent the evening talking to his children and ex-wife who were still in Baltimore.

He was happy to be able to tell Kathy that they had Cate Monty in custody and that this entire mess would be cleaned up soon.

Kathy could hear the relief in his voice; it had been very stressful for him, that much she observed from his phone calls.

She and the kids would be returning to the city soon, school started in a week or so, and she still had a few supplies to pick up for the kids.

Elliot was so excited that they were coming back; he hated being separated from them, especially his children.

Odafin 'Fin' Tutuola was passed out on his bed; he had spent the better part of the evening arguing with his superintendent about the tenants above him, who kept wasting water in their bathroom and it was starting to leak though his bathroom ceiling.

The super was less then ecstatic then having to deal with the problem, mainly because it was his brother-in-law and kid sisters' apartment.

Whereas Fin didn't give a damn who was living in the apartment, just as long as it was taken care of.

He wasn't paying for the ceiling damage, he'd have Casey Novak so far up the super's ass he'd be shitting blonde for a week.

With the law on his side the super grudgingly promised to take care of the problem.

Satisfied, Fin called for some take-out, filled up on it, showered and collapsed on his bed. Recharging for another day, another case, another chance to change someone's life.

John Munch was still awake at 4:06 a.m., leafing through a novel, still in strange awe that he won two million dollars in a lotto he never played and never even enter considered getting involved in.

Then Vince Connors the asshole he is, gives him a ticket and smirks, _"Right now I think you need all the luck you can get, see you in the funny papers."_

He just made John two million dollars richer, he still hadn't decided with to do with it, but had taken Nadia's advice. Held off to collect the money and when he did he claim the reward, he immediately sealed it in a safety deposit box.

Where it would sit till he what decided on what to do with it, _Oh, the possibilities_.

Andrew Gage wasn't asleep like his superiors, no he lie awake listening to the rain with Elettra Acardi laying on his right arm, asleep and slowly numbing it.

His torrid thoughts about Cate Monty and the Cop hit consumed his mind. He just wanted to get them over with and leave the city, not indefinitely, but for a while and go back home.

Back to Basin, Nevada, his small hometown in the middle of nowhere, he had been gone to long.

Nadia Sands was up early instant messaging with Esha Bhaskar, due to the time difference with England.

Munching on cold curry and samosa her mother had left at her apartment the last time she visited, careful not to get it on the keyboard or custom mouse.

Casey Novak nearly pulled an all-nighter as she prepared for Cate Monty's arraignment and finally ran out of coffee in her apartment and passed out at her wobbly and worn desk in her pajamas, soothed to sleep by the rhythmic rain on the fire-escape.

She would have a terrible backache tomorrow, because of it, and on top of everything.

Donald Cragen was asleep also when he would get the call from Isaiah Bjork, the captain during the graveyard shift, who would deliver the disappointing news of Cate Monty's escape.

Which would send Cragen into a oblivion of rage, demanding to know what happened. Bjork couldn't give him the answer.

Grudgingly he started to call the appropriate people of his Squad.

"It's too early for this shit."

What tore his sprits down even more was the rain still pattering against his window.

_Will it ever stop? Will any of this every end?_

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"I want to talk to the officers in charge of the wing, now." Cragen demanded to Isaiah Bjork with Fin and Munch at his side; the others would slowly be filtering into the shambled station.

"It was Michael Cutter and Charles Chapman. There both AWOL right now, same with Jimmy O'Malley." Bjork reported in his bright office, as the rain droned against his window.

Cragen couldn't hide his frustration; he didn't try to either, "What's their reps?"

"O'Malley has never been a saint, as for the other two, they have clean records." Bjork responded.

"Is there a CSU team there?" Cragen went through the motions.

"Yes, but there is something else you should know," Bjork prepared.

Cragen gestured for him to continue.

"We found evidence of multiple persons in her cell, and we have security footage. It's pretty grainy, but it's definitely four people. And Monty put up a hell of fight too."

Cragen nodded, his mind shifting though the possibilities of whom it could have been, "No confirmed ids?"

"Not yet. Natasha's working on that though."

Just then the rest of the Squad arrived, each in some sort of disrepair, all obviously distraught that Cate Monty had escaped.

Just when they thought they had reached the end of this frantic and chaotic case, they wound up a back at square one.

They wanted answers.

They wanted names.

They wanted this too end.

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"We know you were there." Elliot pushed into Jina Farlane's personal space in the interrogation room.

"No I wasn't, I was at Parkers, ask anyone." Jina replied placidly staring into the double mirror, "I've never even met _that_ nasty fuck."

"What happened to your mouth?" Elliot drilled moving in front of Jina, taking his seat again.

"I was in a fight last night." Jina replied, not touching her bashed mouth.

"With who?"

"I don't know the bitch's name, some hoe outside of Parkers." Jina said hostility.

"Cate Monty." He implied.

"No it was someone other girl—"

"No, Jina it wasn't. You know what I think, you and your little buddies came here last night to kill Cate Monty. And she kicked _your_ ass. She smashed_ your_ mouth. And too think you where armed. She's anemic too and she still beat the hell out of four grown adults and to top it all off, she just came out of a coma!" Elliot baited, laughing, prejudiced to the fact that he and Olivia where armed also when Cate took them down the first time they met, totally ignored that nagging truth.

Jina held back, playing it cool, knowing Vince would kill her if she screwed up for everyone else.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was at Parkers last night getting tanked, I ran up a tab too. Call them." She hissed leaning forward.

"No, we don't need to. We have your DNA at the scene; we don't need a confession either. Your going away for a while Jina, you could make a deal now and maybe have a reduced sentence. If you give me all your information on Monty." Elliot offered.

"I can't do that, because I don't know her." Jina lied.

Elliot shrugged, "Fine."

He moved to the door to allow two uniforms in and had her escorted to lock-up.

Maybe the others where having better luck.

"Why were you there?" Fin questioned Manuel Montero in the next room over.

"I wasn't, I was with my girlfriend last night. You can call and ask her." Manuel replied, his left eye covered by a patch of gaze.

"Things get out of hand, she hit your eye?" Fin pointed to the damage.

"Yeah, she's a spousal abuser." He said sarcastically.

"Yeah, so what did Cate do to you? Shove one of those Billy clubs in your eye?" Fin antagonized.

"No, I got this yesterday at a work site. I didn't have my safety goggles on. Shit like this happens all the time." He bounced the answer.

"Of course it does, but we have you at the crime scene. A lot of blood and eye membrane tissues, yours. Strike a deal and you'll have less of a sentence." Fin enticed.

"Detective, I'm innocent. I wasn't there and I've never seen Cate Monty in the flesh." Manuel reaffirmed, un-budging.

Fin was through with him and called for a uniform.

"Your to hot to be a cop." Damien Burroughs purred to Nadia.

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before." Nadia moved from the corner of the room and seated herself in front of Damien.

"Nice hue." She pointed to the bruising at his temple.

"Oh yeah," he consciously leaned back and touched it, "Jina did this last night, I pulled her off some girl at Parkers and she clocked me in the process." He smiled slyly.

_I always have some truth to my lies…_

"Yeah," Nadia said quickly not believing him. "So, why were you here last night?"

Damien looked at like she hadn't heard anything he said, "Like I said, I was at Parkers last night."

The young detective leered some, then pulled a photo out of a manila next to her, placing it on the table in front of her, setting it between them.

Damien leaned in eyeing the photo, it reflected in his eyes as jumbled orbs each connected to other orbs with cylinder branches.

"Aw, do you like to make digital drawings on your laptop. I think its real pretty." Damien said sarcastically with a laugh.

Nadia smiled and laughed with him, "I'm glad you like it, that's your spit."

He stopped laughing.

"Yeah, a CSU analyst found a nice pile of your drool on Cate Monty's cell floor." She continued to giggle, "Why were you drooling on her floor? Now, I know she's attractive even though she looks like a brunt French fry. But, what the hell?"

Damien didn't reply.

"You know what, I don't care why you were there. But we know you were, and that you got you ass kicked." Nadia concluded calling for a uniform.

"Why do you hate her so much?" John irritated Vince Connors, clasping his hands on the table.

"Well aside from murdering my father by cutting him to pieces, leaving my mother widowed and sisters fatherless, were cool. Yeah, me and Cate are just cool." Vince replied with sharp sarcasm.

"So you admit to coming here last night and attempting to kill her."

"I did no such thing."

"We found gunpowder residue on your hand and pulled slugs out of out the walls. I'm guessing you were the only one packin' heat. Also, we found your blood in the hall. Cate hit you across the face didn't she?" John pushed.

"No, I wasn't there. I was with my wife last night."

John nodded knowing he was lying, "Doesn't matter. We know you and your crew were here last night. You came here to kill Cate Monty, to avenge your father's death and she fought like hell and escaped. No amount of money is going to keep you from going to prison." He added.

Vince leaned in, "I own this town. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah sure, officer." He called, a moment later a uniform appeared to escort Vince to lock-up.

"Oh, and Vince," he turned to John. "I forgot to thank you for that ticket. Luck is a great thing, I'll be seeing _you_ in the funny papers."

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"You took a long lunch." Elliot murmured to Olivia as she dumped her purse into her bottom desk drawer and locked it.

"I ran into some traffic." She evaded, "How did it go?"

Elliot clasped his hands and propped his elbows on the desk, "None of them confessed, or even tried to strike a deal. So, their down into lock-up, it's a legal thing now, so it's Casey's ballgame."

Olivia nodded taking her own seat, "Anything else?"

"We found a Billy club and .thirty-eight Glock with a silencer on it, in a trashcan four blocks from here, coated with Cate's prints and lots of blood on the walls and walk surrounding, but the dogs lost the scent." Elliot reported depressingly.

"I wonder whose next." Olivia coincided.

"Or how long she'll wait before she kills again, CSU believes she was shot at least twice." He added.

Olivia nodded, "I doubt that's going to slow her down."

"Yeah, I don't think it will either. She's just too close now."

"I feel so lost…this is such as depressing case…" Olivia trailed off looking out one of the room's windows presenting blatant overcast and misting rain.

He found himself following her eyes to the window.

"Elliot…do you believe in ghosts?"

He was taken aback by her question, then found himself wondering if he really did.

"When I was six…" He looked off with an odd surrealistic look in his eyes, ignoring the hectic surroundings of the office, then abruptly chose to back out to of the conversation, "No, I don't."

Later in the day, Vince Connors, Damien Burroughs, Manuel Montero and Jina Farlane all managed to evade arraignment and made bail. Vince had inherited all his father's contacts, including the Mayor of the city, who pulled some strings with the Chief of Detectives Caitlin O'Connell.

And they all thought she couldn't be bought.

It happened, and the Squad had to move on, focusing back on square one looking for a dead woman.

As for the uniforms in charge of Cate Monty during the graveyard shift; Jimmy O'Malley, Michael Cutter and Charles Chapman, they were all AWOL, vanished from the city, taking their families and saving accounts with them.

They were all wanted now.

Cragen managed to contact Sheriff Oscar Davis before he made a pointless trip to the city and had to tell him the enraging news of Cate's escape. He was quite mad to say the least. Cragen knew it wouldn't be the last time he heard from him either.

The next six days were total and pure harum-scarum for the Squad and station; everyone was on edge waiting for Cate to strike again.

To return from her seclusion, healed, and continue her homicidal rampage.

But were would she strike and who would meet their demise next?

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The Thirty-Fifth Day

September 6, 2005 Tuesday

"It's still raining. I don't get it." Nadia said dryly as she suckled on the lukewarm latté while she perched on John's desk corner.

"It's a sign." John said wiggling his fingers to add drama.

"You two make any progress today?" She nipped at the paper cup, including Fin in the conversation.

"No more then you and Andrew. Nothing but dead ends, I think Cate Monty is a sadist. She's probably watching us sweat this out. Giggling gleefully." He shuffled some manilas.

Nadia nodded agreeing, "Yeah…sadist."

A loud thud echoed from across the large office, causing the two to look toward Cragen's office only to see him step out, straining to pull his blazer on.

He had a look of utter annoyance and sorrow on his face.

"She already killed again, hasn't she?" Fin read Cragen's face aloud.

He merely nodded, "This one sounds pretty bad. De Marko…I think he threw up before he called me. He said something about her evolving to a new…_heinous_." Cragen couldn't stop the slight chill he felt as he recited the words.

"Who was it?" Olivia interjected closing a manila, standing to pull her jacket on.

"Anita Boze." He recited.

"Boze? The artist?" The realization struck Elliot all most instantly.

"Now that I think about it, yeah, that's her." Cragen realized too, the others started pulling their own jackets on.

"Oh, I have one of her sculptures." John whispered to Nadia as they headed, drearily to the elevators, "I wonder if it will double in value?"

Nadia smirked, "Like you need more money."

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_Whoa, De Marko wasn't kidding._ Nadia thought, feeling her stomach turn drastically, she couldn't take it anymore, the smell or the graphic, horrendous murder scene before her. She turned on her heel without saying a word, stumbling out into the misting rain to vomit in the nearest alleyway, adjoining the massive art studio.

Apparently she wasn't the only one who had to vomit; she noted someone else's retch spattered on the nearest dumpster as she clutched her weather frizzing hair.

No one went after Nadia, but several of them thought about following suit, vomiting somewhere too.

Have you ever heard the saying, 'It's like watching a train wreck, it's so awful, but you can't bring yourself to look away.'

Ever heard that?

That was how the Squad felt at that very moment as they viewed _some_ of Anita Boze's body in silence.

_I don't care what Huang says, she's insane._ Elliot gulped back the sour taste in the back of his throat and felt a sudden dryness in his mouth.

Andrew had trouble registering just what he was looking at, he was more stunned then anything, Cate was cutting at the quick now. De Marko was right, she has evolved.

…_and I thought there was a lot of blood at Bensyn Connor's murder. How could she? What did she do to Cate to deserve…this?_ Olivia lamented with the back of her hand over her lips and brushing at her nostrils, nervous habit.

Fin rubbed his hands together and finally managed to look at his shoes, _No one should die like that._

_Did she write that with a mop?_ John eyed the large, bold, bloody and strong statement;

"ITS JUST BUSSINES"

Written in wide looping letters on the concrete floor, this kill meant something to Cate, she was selfish in this murder. She took pleasure in it, this was beyond personal, it was much, much deeper.

_We had her and she got away, to do this_…Cragen blamed himself for the bloody carnage he and his subordinates were observing.

Anita Boze was a Bohemian artist.

Spawned and created all sorts of urban art and massive graffiti that some city residents would pay her to taint bland building walls with brilliant bursts of modern renaissance and the ever enfolding New York City history.

But there was always controversy surrounding her work and art. It was widely speculated that she had a much, much darker side to her psyche. One she wouldn't let anyone in the public eye near.

She had something though; why else would Cate have ended her?

Anita sculpted, painted, welded and had a newer radical type of art; she would chain tree trunks to a secure base and work on them with a chainsaw.

She was good at it to, massive wood carvings all done with a gas power, handheld chainsaw, Yuricks model 411.

Apparently Cate decided to do some _carving _of her own.

How did they know it was Cate?

Aside from the motive and calling card, they had finger prints, hers everywhere. Cate wasn't very cautious this time, they never lifted a print from her pervious murders; whereas here you could literality see the fine swirls of her finger pads in Anita's blood.

No finely stitched leather gloves worn directly from a specialty shop in Chinatown.

Not this time.

She was close, she didn't care that they knew it was her.

'Catch me if you can, keep me if you can manage.' Was the silent message the fingerprints projected.

Anita Boze had been originally in one piece, as most people are.

Now she was strung up in with the chains she used to fasten tree trunks, and split crotch up with the Yuricks 411 chainsaw.

She was alive when it happened too; M.E. Warner would confirm that later.

Her right leg lie disconnected from her hip in a pool of coagulating crimson. The bone cut clean from the pelvis and oozed pasty marrow. Chucks of thigh with bits of denim jean were spattered here and there in art studio, plastered to nearby boxes and crates, stringy and wet.

The left leg remained attached to her pelvis, but the foot was cut off. A gray colored, now blood drenched tennis shoe was lopsided a few feet in front of the hanging remains. The foot still securely laced in.

An arm was sprawled a few inches from the shoe, every finger obviously broken, each one now twisted into odd angles, gnarled and knobby like a tree branch, a stone shattered class ring wound about the index.

The other appeared to be jerked from the shoulder socket. The only thing keeping gravity from claiming it was a thatch of quickly drying skin, stretched to the point where it looked like some form of putty, unlike the vein, muscle knotted and fat condensed flesh it should be.

Her torso was no exception to Cate's sick wrath.

It was shredded by the chainsaw, her snapped ribs could be viewed and long, stringing stomach innards had seeped from her body. A grotesque pile of intestine, bits of liver and other organs never meant to exist outside the human body lie beneath the hanging torso.

They wondered when the flies would pick up the scent.

Then there was Anita's face, her lips had been split horizontally giving her a hard, twisted doll smile, reinforced by the rouging of her cheeks. Her nose broken, an eye swollen shut, whereas her other eye was missing.

Cragen felt his stomach turn as his eyes probed uncomfortably into the dark gape; the red streaky eye socket with two slowly sinking flaps of skin, both slumping toward her inner socket, the remnants of eyelids.

It was awful.

Bloody and vibrant.

So full of maniacal colors, with bold, unrelenting hate.

This scene said 'look at me'; it was louder then the Kershaw, Garston, Harris, Connors, Braddock or Ong's murders.

It was more violent and vicious.

Primal almost.

What did Anita Boze do to Cate Monty to deserve such a brutal and agonizing death?

"'They are sadists, both living and dead. Then _she_ had her way, that sadistic bitch.'" Elliot quoted while whispering.

Olivia glanced at him, "What?" She found herself whispering too.

"She. Cate said _she_ had her way, 'sadistic bitch'. I'm will to wager Anita Boze, if she really is involved, that she mutilated and maybe even circumcised Cate." He theorized, uncomfortably.

Nadia returned at that moment, breathing slowly and unconsciously wiping her mouth, gulping the soured air, nearly turning green again.

"Make any assessments?" She asked in a shuttered huff.

John crossed his arms turning to her, "Other then Monty should be strapped in a straightjacket and left in a padded room…then no."

"Do we have anything on her?" Olivia asked Cragen.

"On Boze?"

She nodded.

"I'm not sure, do you have a scent?" He questioned finally turning his back on the gruesome scene and moving to a cleaner area for congregation.

"I remember the night she killed Braddock while I was running background checks an 'Anita' came up. The last name escapes me…Boze could be an alias."

Cragen shifted knowing, "Who found her?"

Captain Jordan De Marko stepped in from the sidelines, "Jo Tampa," he pointed to the teenager cowering under an itchy police blanket while sitting in the back of an ambulance at the mouth of the art studio.

"Who is she?" Cragen asked inquisitive.

"An art apprentice, she found Boze an hour ago. She didn't see anyone."

"She wouldn't of, Cate has a pattern like most serial killers, she only kills at night. You want to take her statement?" He directed the question at the sick Nadia.

She almost shrugged, but quickly averted the motion, "Sure." She was about to slip away, shooting Andrew a look for him to accompany her.

The two trudged off toward the misting rain as the others came to a partial circle a few steps away from the yellow tape.

"What's with all the crap I've been hearing about on the news and radio that Monty's some kind of 'Holier then Thou' vigilante. Then she does something like this." De Marko said to anyone who cared to respond.

"She's a killer you know that." Elliot answered.

De Marko nodded, "I've read the case reports about the others she murdered, and between us, who really needed those fucks running around? Bunch of pedophiles and rapists…but why a Bohemian?"

John shrugged at the question, "Anita Boze hasn't been a saint either. You heard about the controversy with her last painting, right?"

The others shook their heads.

"I guess I'm the only one artistically cultured. Anyway, it's some painting of a teenager who slit her wrists in a bathtub…Boze was a supporter of suicide." He clarified.

"We need more information on her," Cragen's cell rang beeped at that moment, he produced it, frowning. "Keep a look out for that _eye_, I'm going to have to head back. See what you all can find here." Cragen left without another word, it started raining again.

Fin turned back to the scene, "What else is there to find? We have the weapon, forced entry?" He glanced at De Marko who nodded.

"Unclear motive." John grumbled.

"Thank you, John." Fin muttered sarcastically.

"But we know nothing about her." Olivia added focusing on chunks of graying stomach innards.

"I want to know what happened to her other eye. Cate has never taken a trophy." Elliot piped up.

"But she has never chained someone up and taken a chainsaw to their ass either." Fin answered slowly moving around the tape, focusing on the partial body suspended like a puppet, it wavered some due to gravity. The chain links would even creak and clink adding to the surrealism and eeriness of the scene.

"She's a wee bit of a hypocrite too, saying whoever that person was during her interrogation, is a sadist. I mean, look at this." John waved his arms at the quiet slaughter.

"Hey, I said she evolved." De Marko murmured, "I'm thinking ya'll got this. I'm stepping out to." He added as Olivia nodded, he looked grateful as he turned his back to leave.

"Oh damn!" Fin cursed taking a step back causing the others to look in his direction.

"What?" They all asked in an eerie unison.

"I found her eye. Shit, doesn't Cate know green-eyed girls are a rarity?"

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"Alright, Anita Boze real name Anita Garcia. Born in Austin raised in Mexico City, Mexico. Been in trouble most of her life…suffered child abuse, moved back to the States in '89, to Los Angeles. Founded the all female gang Diablo Sidewinders. Rumored to have killed over thirty-six people in gang related incidents, including two undercover cops." Fin took a breath as he preached to the Squad.

"She's sold everything from guns, to drugs, to prostitutes. Served time in Monroe's Maximum Security Prison for mutilating a school teacher. She disappears after that, then came to New York changed her name and become an _artist_." Fin sarcastically emphasized the part about becoming an artist.

He scanned a few pages in the manila, "Known affiliations: Kat Leblanc, David Hebel, Rosa Sanchez," he sighed seeing the next names, "Jack Kershaw, Jon Rice and Lengsfield Philips."

"Son of a bitch." Olivia muttered at the recognized names.

Andrew shifted uncomfortably; it went unnoticed by the others.

"This is getting ridiculous, you said Hebel, as in one of the Hebel brothers." Elliot directed at Fin.

He glanced at the page, "I guess, I've never heard of him."

Olivia and John looked at him expectantly, "The Hebel brothers, pity thieves, David and Nick. Is it familiar to you?" He directed at Olivia.

She paused thoughtfully, "Now you mention it, I do recall the name from my background check."

"Sands. Nadia Sands!" The voice was high and narrowed; Nadia and the others turned toward the voice to see a uniform and what looked like a bike-messenger with a parcel in his hands.

"Over here, Damon." Nadia waved to the uniform over to the filing cabinets and desks.

The two maneuvered though the desks and finally paused at the congregation at Fin and John's desks.

"You Sands?" The bike-messenger gestured to Nadia as she was perched against John's desk.

She nodded, "Can I see some identification?" He asked clutching the freshly boxed parcel.

Nadia found herself on edge very quickly, wearily glanced at Olivia, feeling all eyes on her as she reached for her badge.

The bike-messenger eyed the forged chunk of metal, "I'll need photo id."

Slowly becoming annoyed, she pulled out her city driver's license embarrassed by the photo of her with very long hair and closed eyes.

The bike-messenger repressed the urge to laugh and handed her the parcel, turning to leave.

Intuition suddenly rapped at her psyche, "Wait," she called to his back, he turned.

"You're not going anywhere. Who sent you?" She held the parcel at arms length as if it could explode.

"Some guy." He lied spreading his arms shrugging.

"Bullshit. I've never been asked for photo id, my badge was always enough. You didn't even ask for a signature." She stood walking toward him; he took a few steps back the others picking up on the scent, eyeing the bike-messenger too.

"Look, I didn't do anything. Some chick gave me this package on the side, gave me an extra twenty to get this to you within the hour and make sure it was you." He finally came clean but looked like a deer about to bolt with all the officers focusing on him.

"What does she look like?" Elliot jumped in.

"Red-head, total fox, was wearing this real pretty scarf around her neck." He answered, becoming more edgy every moment.

Nadia turned away some gingerly setting the parcel down on her desk, reaching for a tissue to cover her fingers with and pulled out her most likely illegal butterfly knife and slowly went to work on the box.

"What did she say to you? Did she have any scaring?" Fin stepped in.

The bike-messenger looked wearily at him, with Damon still blocking his path, "Nothing, just what I said. She looked tired though and smelled like she had been burning something. And she had a black eye, that's it. I know my rights, I didn't do anything."

"Shit." Nadia whispered reading the letter she pulled from the box carefully with the butterfly knife and tissue, "Captain!" She called across the office, with a swift urgency in her voice.

Cragen stepped out of his open office seconds later at her outburst, his eyes saying everything.

John moved in next to Nadia quickly reading the letter aloud that had gotten her so frazzled, "Detective Sands. Our conversation during my temporary incarceration woke me up to the possibility that Kim Ong may have a partner in the sex trade. I was right. Early this morning after I killed Anita Garcia—I'm sure you've found the body—I went after my next target, Nick Hebel."

He took a short breath, "As it turns out he and Ong were partners. Enclosed is the address book containing the locations of all the slave houses in the city. I'm only one person, I did investigate these houses and do not have the firepower or back-up to take the task of liberating the children myself. I give this task to you all. Godspeed."

He paused again, "Also, Nick Hebel's body is at the Firewater Bar and Billiard Hall. I burned it down this morning. I'm not screwing with any of you, don't interpret this letter that way, but I am just staying one step ahead. I'm nearly done and soon you will never hear from me again. Sincerely, Cate Monty."

John concluded as Nadia dug out some blue latex gloves from the bottom of her desk, she snapped them on avoiding wincing at the sharp sting it caused.

"What conversation?" John asked Nadia, "Did you speak to her without authorization?"

Nadia chose to ignore him for the moment and instead slowly retracted the thoroughly worn blue address book from the parcel.

"Where was this at?" Elliot approached the bike-messenger who stepped back again, intimidated by Elliot's stature.

"What?"

"This transaction. Where was it at?"

"I was at the corner of avenue twelve and Percy Street. She approached me. That's all I know." He replied defensibly.

Elliot nodded depressingly, "She's out of the vicinity by now." Olivia prophesied.

"She's cleaning house, two murders a few hours part. She knows she's running out of time." Fin added.

"There are four different locations in here." Nadia reported to Cragen who was eyeing her with suspicion, he'd would reprimand her about this 'conversation' later.

"This could be a distraction." John theorized about the slave houses, "She may be setting us up so she could go after her next target. A bigger target even."

Cragen shifted at his comment, "Could be, but I don't want to take any chances. Get ready to move out."

(End Chapter Thirteen)

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	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

A/N: The Firewater Bar and Billiard Hall are all mine! Also, I don't think there is a New York Chronicle…I just made it up…if there is, not copyright infringement meant.

SVU Lover4ever: Thanks! Your support has been so meaningful during this. And thank you so much for taking the time to review.

Wolfwood11: Awwww! Thanks dude! Gave me a little ego boost! Thanks so much or reviewing.

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"Are you glad Cragen ordered us not to go?" Andrew asked Nadia as he gripped the steering wheel of the unmarked a block from the partially burned Firewater Bar and Billiard Hall.

"He did it because were the rookies. I had an unauthorized conversation with _her_ and I became attached to Esha Bhaskar." Nadia replied glumly as she looked out her window, seeing pass the flowing rain streaks on the glass.

"Well, true about the rookie thing and the conversation. But I don't know that I could look into more of those faces…subjected to such…_horrors_." Andrew answered as the turn signal clicked off.

"Andy, why are you in Special Victims?" She asked turning to him.

He shrugged some.

"I know your, _disturbed_ by this work. I know I am. It makes you uncomfortable the people we work with. But you seem closed to me a lot of times. I know were not the best of friends and we're hardly partners, not even beyond the partner 'honeymoon' yet…but I'm here, man. I'm your partner." Nadia added.

"Thanks, I'm just not an opened person. But we'll get pass it," he lied, "I didn't ask for this transfer. Its just difficult for me to understand…that such monsters exist out there." He answered continuality lying.

_I am the biggest hypocrite in the world. I'm a fucking hitman and I'm bitching about monsters and preaching about what ifs that will never happen. _

"Yeah, I know were you're coming from." She looked away again.

_No you don't. You have no idea._

He pulled up the Firewater Bar and Billiard Hall, next to a fire truck. The fire was out but the building still smoldered.

Andrew threw it in park feeling a slight lurch and fumbled for the keys in the ignition. Truth be told he'd really rather be storming the slave houses then viewing the brunt corpse of Nick Hebel.

Nadia stepped out popping the umbrella open, walking carefully on the slick pavement to the driver's side.

Her hair frizzing again in the harsh weather, she gave up on any kind of order.

Andrew stepped out taking the umbrella from her, being an inch or so taller then her and headed for the crime scene.

"Sands and Gage?" The officer in charge gestured to the two huddled beneath the umbrella.

They nodded stepping under the overhang that survived the fire.

"Lieutenant Dan Hart. This is Chief Arnolds." Dan looked over to the Fire Chief still in full fire dress.

"Lieutenant. Chief." Nadia addressed them both feeling self-conscious about her appearance.

"We found the forced entry and cause of the fire." Dan started leading them under the damaged threshold.

"She entered though a skylight in the far end of the pool hall. Made quite an entrance too." He pointed to the broken skylight amongst the charred pool tables. Rain slowly drizzling in from the shattered razor-sharp angles.

"It was a few hours after closing time, he was the only one here. Fire started from a vintage Zippo placed on the bar." Arnolds picked up were Dan left off.

The two detectives avoided the patches of rain pouring in from spots damaged in the ceiling as they eyed the nearly destroyed bar. Their eyes darted to what Andrew had been dreading; the body.

A white sheet had been pulled up and over what they knew to be a charred corpse, tied to a ceiling brace that extended down into the bar.

"That's all we've, been able to determine at the moment. So we'll leave you to your own vices." Dan interjected pulling the rookies from their focus on the damp white sheet.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks, both of you." Andrew replied as Nadia pulled the umbrella shut, but didn't shake it.

The Fire Chief and Lieutenant nodded taking their leave, crunching over various bits of charcoaled benches, bar stools and busted alcohol bottles, each one turned into an explosive as the fire grew.

Nadia slipped the umbrella loop over her wrist as she started to investigate the scene, the body her first checkpoint.

The Firewater Bar and Billiard Hall smelled of smoke and grit. The air had a taste of wet ash that would cling to their pours and clothing for the rest of the day, giving them a tramp look until they would have the opportunity to bathe.

Rain pattered softy in miscellaneous areas of the bar, creating a sorrowful soundtrack as Nadia pulled on the blue latex gloves she carried in her pocket and handed a pair to Andrew.

She handed him the umbrella and carefully she peeled back the white sheet plastered to the flesh burnt body.

A gasp of disgust escaped her lips as some bits of skin came off with the sheet, creating a soft tearing sound she was able to hear over the rain.

The scent of burned flesh floated into her nostrils forcing her to lean back some. She gently removed the sheet all the away, allowing it to rest along the collapsing bar, covering the source of the fire and shattered bit of glass.

Andrew had moved around the bar, eyeing the destruction, broken bottles everywhere, from cheap domestics to exotic imports.

"She must have shattered every bottle in the place, perfect for a bonfire." Andrew observed, avoiding the body.

"Poured it all on the bar and him after she tied him to the brace." Nadia picked up his trail, glancing at the binds around his wrist, "She used extension cords. Most likely his."

"There's alcohol down here too. Lots of it." Andrew called as he entered the partially burned pool hall, investigating the shattered skylight above one the pool tables. Noting the rain coming in from the gaping hole, ruining the red felt and damaging the wooden components as well.

Upon closer inspection he saw two severe footprints, both planted side by side on the red felt. He looked up to the high skylight, _Since when do you crash through skylights? What happened to the silent stealth assassin?_

Nadia looked into the burned face of Nick Hebel. His eyes burned to almost gray, but his blue irises still twinkled some, giving Nadia a chill. His lips had curled up like dead rose petals revealing scorched black—once pearl white—teeth.

His tongue remained, but was a blackened thatch of skin. Nose reduced to sunken holes in his skull and the flesh surrounding parched to a fragile ebony, peppered with Caucasian flecks of original color.

The hair that was a blonde had shifted to a crisp mat of black; Nadia timidly touched some at his temple, watching it crumble at her touch and disappear in the air.

Most of his clothing had been seared off by the flames, revealing chunks of missing flesh and dry skin stretched like drum flaps on the blackened bone.

One leg bone had been severely snapped, the other had bits of shimmering glaze grooved into the stretched skin and bone.

It was of a substance she had never seen. She leaned in trying to get a better look, then realized it was pieces of glass reheated into his skin.

She racked her brain, trying to remember the melting point for glass; it was hot though, very, very hot.

She scanned the room looking for the calling card, her eyes darting about until her own eyes caught her reflection in the bar mirror.

"ITS JUST BUSSINESS"

Reflected on the partially heat shattered mirror, the blood had turned to a black from the fire.

"We're not going to stop her." Nadia whispered hopelessly at her own distorted reflection, just as the CSU team arrived.

"Mind the glass, all of you." She cautioned to the team as she pulled the sheet back over Nick Hebel.

They were done here, "Ready to go?" She called to Andrew who was purposely killing time in the pool hall so he wouldn't have to look at Nick's body.

"Yeah," he called walking up the short steps, preparing to open the umbrella again.

"You ok, Andy." She whispered stepping under the umbrella.

"Yeah, I just have some ash grit in my eye." He replied rubbing at the puffy eye, which was sort of true. What was truer was that those few tears would be the only ones he would shed for Nick Hebel.

_This has to end. And I'm going to have to do it. I'm sending you to hell, Cate Monty. Hope your bags are packed._

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"Drop the fuckin' knife, now!" Fin howled at the slave house guard with thick dreadlocks who clutched the small filthy girl who was wailing with fear. Digging her dirty nails into his hairy forearm while he shoved the large blade against her dirt ringed neck.

"Fuck you!" He screamed at Fin, holding the squirming child as a shield.

"Just drop the knife now. Think about it, man. You've got nowhere to go, just drop the knife and let her go." Fin demanded leveling his Glock at the scrambled guard.

"Hell no! I let her go and you'll cap me on site!" He screamed at Fin raising back some to gain a better hold the furiously scared girl.

"No we won't. Just do as we said and lie down on the floor." John attempted to calm him some, all the while leveling his own Glock trying to get a better shot.

"Lairs! You're all a bunch of fuckin' lairs! All cops are lairs! Pricks and liars!" He screamed brandishing the knife tighter.

In a jolt of fear at the sharpened blade the girl wailed louder, twisting and finally giving John and Fin a clear shot.

They both took it.

They would never know who fired first but they both struck the guard in the head. Fin swept in quickly, dropping his Glock and grabbing the slowly collapsing corpse's wrist to keep him from silting the girl's throat, his first act in death.

He wasn't fast enough; a small fissure appeared at her hollow, spewing red.

John dropped his Glock too, stepping in pressed his hand against the traumatized girls' throat, to stanch the bleeding.

Fin cursed himself for not being fast enough and ripped his jacket off, slipping it under John's hand.

"Your going to be fine, just don't speak, ok." John soothed to the petrified girl, who nodded trying not to sniffle as John swept her up in her arms and quickly exited the room headed for one of the many ambulances.

Fin was still blaming himself for the girl's injury as he gathered up his Glock and John's. Ignoring the dead body, someone else would pick it up later and moving out into the chaos of screaming children and other SWAT operatives and multiple SVU officers all coordinating together on the fourth and final slave house located on the outskirts of the city.

Liberating children and even some adults and arresting those that were stationed as guards in the house.

Fin re-holstered his firearm and shoved John's firearm in the front waistband of his slacks, moving slowly out toward the flashing lights of multiple squad cars, ambulances and fire trucks and two SWAT assault vehicles.

The rain was coming down in swift sheets now.

Fin ignored the bitter rain as he walked to his and John's unmarked. The sweep of the building was complete now; it would be up to the SWAT team to finish it.

Nearby Olivia screamed with primal harshness as she slammed an uncooperative handcuffed guard against the hood of her unmarked, causing it lurch and send up a spray of water in the air.

Fin glanced making sure she had things under control as she jerked him back and shoved him hard into the back to the unmarked; Elliot slammed the door and mouthed the words if she was ok. She nodded and Fin continued to walk, and saw John appear for the first time in his direction, walking through the rain, holding his soiled jacket.

John reached their unmarked first and slipped in, soaking the drivers seat, but he didn't care.

Fin arrived a few seconds later taking his seat too.

"Ya'll gonna fuck-up the seats. Taxpayers pay for that, pigs." One of the handcuffed guards reminded them from behind the black grate.

"Shut-the hell-up." Fin muttered reaching for a towel placed on the dash, drying his face.

"You shut-the hell-up, pig!" He replied shifting and kicking the black grate. The vehicle lurched heavily.

"Motherfucker, don't make me comeback their and slam your ass." Fin hissed glancing at the review mirror.

"Police brutality!" He wailed causing the other three in the vehicle to cringe.

The sound of a kick could be heard, "What was that for!" He hissed in the backseat causing John and Fin to glance back.

"Just shut up you, stupid fuck. Fucking fiend. Can't believe I got pinched because you were to high remember how to take the safety of your piece. Dumb-ass." The female guard huffed looking back out to the rain.

"Bitch."

"Prick."

They finally quieted down as the other vehicles slowly started to exit the area. The radio clicked with static and other commands.

"How's the girl?" Fin asked as John handed him his rain drenched and blood soiled jacket.

"Their taking her to St. Marks, with all the others. They didn't think the main artery was hit." John replied twisting the ignition as the car windows' started to fog over from humidly.

"What Cragen say?" He asked returning his Glock to John who muttered thanks as he re-holstered.

"He's heading back after the last sweep and gave us the go-head to head back." John replied backing up in the slowing weather.

"Great, I want to get out of these clothes before I start chaffin'." Fin murmured still thinking about the girl and replaying the scene over and over again in his mind.

Still blaming himself.

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Olivia emerged from the shower with puff of steam and was wrapped in a long terrycloth robe with a towel, wringing her shoulder length hair.

"Feel better?" Elliot asked pulling on a dry shirt from his locker; she shuffled in her cheap flip-fops down to her own locker.

"Yeah, lots. Nice and warm and fresh…sort of." She smiled pulling her locker open, retrieving a clean t-shirt and dark denim jeans. Very casual, but after today she doubted Cragen would care.

"See you up stairs. I refuse to violate my chivalry toward you." He said dramatically looping his belt.

She giggled, "Yeah, your chivalry."

He smiled and left the locker-room to let her dress in private.

After she dressed she made the short journey back up to the massive squad room to see Nadia and Andrew still in the same clothing with bits of grit caught in their pours and both smelled of bonfire, but the day was nearly over so it didn't bother them much.

Elliot was seated at his own desk, filling out paperwork, shuffling sheets aside.

Fin and John both washed also leafing through paperwork reporting on the four slave houses. Both of them would later be evaluated by George Huang about the incident involving the guard they had to shoot in order to save the girl, and deemed sane and well enough to keep working. There would most likely an investigation about it, though.

Another one to add to the pile.

"What do you have on Hebel?" Cragen asked stepping out of his office, freshly showered also.

An exhausted Nadia looked up and reached for her case notes, "Well he was an arsonist, sort of poetic. He's done time in nearly every State. All of his affiliations are Cate's victims, except for his brother, Jon Rice and Lengsfield Philips."

"She tied Hebel up with extension cords, after pounding him. Then she lit the place up Most of the evidence of a fight was destroyed in the fire. Warner said he was burned alive when it happened." She concluded.

"We think he was the one who burned Cate alive, if what she said is true." Andrew added hollowly.

Cragen nodded at the theory, "Bring his brother in."

"He may be next but, what do we bring him in for?" Olivia questioned.

"Tell him he has to identify his brother."

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Two days passed, when the multiple leaks connected to Cate Monty finally reached the media and public.

Information that Cate Monty had escaped from custody and killed two people only a few hours apart.

One the infamous Bohemian radical artist, Anita Boze and it would never be leaked that she herself was actually a murder too; one that had paid her debt to society then changed her name.

Her artwork had doubled in value within hours that her death was announced, even more so the because of the way she was killed. Death by chainsaw, how often does that really happen?

Supporters of Cate Monty turned swiftly against her at this new murder.

Why kill an artist?

The other murder, Nick Hebel, the owner of the Firewater Bar and Billiard Hall. A fixture of the city. She torched one of the good ol' boys of the city and burned a city treasure to the ground.

But she won some of the supporters back. His past as an arsonist was never leaked though, whereas the fact he participated in the sex-trade with the late Kim Ong launched Cate back to heroic status.

Four slave houses in the city where liberated. From a small dingy basement filled with fourteen children to the massive warehouse filled with fifty-two individuals.

Eighty-four individuals in total, each one reported missing by someone somewhere in the world.

This time the ages ranged from the youngest, four to thirty-six as the oldest. Positive publicity for the NYPD, but much of their creditability faded when it was leaked that Cate Monty sent a detective the addresses of the slave houses.

Nadia Sands was reprimanded by Captain Cragen; she would be put on suspended leave with pay for one week after the Cate Monty case was over, for the unauthorized conversation with Cate.

The others that also had unauthorized conversations didn't come forward—Casey and Olivia—mainly because Nadia kept the reprimand to herself.

Then there was the issue of David Hebel. He couldn't be found for two days; an APB was put out for him and turned up nothing.

Cragen wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

It continued to rain and Cate Monty remained silent for two days or they just hadn't found her latest victim, yet.

The Squad wasn't sure which.

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The Thirty-Seventh Day

September 8, 2005 Thursday

David Hebel looked worn and filthy as he stumbled into the sleepy police precinct. Clutching a sopping and incomplete copy of the New York Chronicle and reeking of body odor.

Shuffling up to the brisk account officer who stood at the high desk, shifting papers efficiently.

"I want to talk to these to officers, now." David said dropping the ink damp newspaper on the officer's fresh and tidy forums, causing her to cut a glare his way, then nearly fainted at the awful, tidal wave of body odor and breath almost smelling of mephitis.

The assaulting, natural aromas burned her eyes and nearly made her nose run. It took all of her self-control not to step back, to uphold that mores in society to ignore such _distractions_.

Officer Teresa Logan knotted her hands together resisting the urge to clamp her nostrils, and envisioned her greatest desire at that moment; burying her nose in a tissue and blowing the smell from her nose.

Concentrating, she forced herself to look down at the grubby pages. The black and white images of Detectives Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler looked back at her, beneath the bold headline, 'MONTY ESCAPES, MURDERS TWO PERSONS'.

"Sir, have you been assaulted?" Teresa asked assuming that since he wanted to speak to Special Victims Detectives.

"No, but I have information regarding," he glanced from side to side then leaned into whispering, "Cate Monty."

She nodded, skeptically, "What is your name, sir?"

Still leaning in, "Hebel, David Hebel."

Teresa nodded again recalling the APB on Hebel. Her eyes fluttered down the printed noticed on her desk, scanning the image of a clean-shaven David Hebel. She looked back at him, it was a match.

"Sir, would you like some coffee while I get the officers you requested?" She asked nearly ecstatic at the prospect of being the officer reporting that Hebel was in the station. Euphoric visions of promotion fluttered in her mind.

"No ma'am, I'm fine." He waved his hand at the offer, leaning on the worn desk; she noted a flash of his inner arm, fading track marks.

Teresa stepped aside, keeping an eye on him and whispered to Officer Romero to make sure that David didn't leave.

She moved swiftly, her keys digging into her thigh while she stepped harshly on the short staircase to the Special Victims squad room.

Searching for the familiar faces and finding neither of them.

"Naidee," she whispered striding up to Nadia Sands's desk, who was clicking away at a laptop and chewing on something.

"Yeah Tessi, what's up?" Nadia glanced up at her, gargling on a pen cap.

"Where's Benson and Stabler?"

"Ugh," she glanced around, "I don't know actually, but you know I'm a detective too." Nadia looked at her with fake puppy eyes.

"Yeah I know, but I need to find them."

"Why?"

Teresa leaned in, sending the obvious message that it was privileged information, "David Hebel just walked into the station five minutes ago looking for them."

Nadia's eyes glazed at the mention of his name, "You didn't let him leave, did you?"

"No, Romero blocking the door."

"Oh 'Brick Wall', eh. Nice move, oh there they are. Elliot, Olivia!" Nadia flagged them over.

"What?" Elliot questioned sensing a cloak and dagger situation.

"Hebel, he's in the front office. He'll only talk to you two." Teresa informed.

"What? We've been crawling through the nastiest shit of this city looking for him and he just shows up!" Olivia's abrupt mood swing drew the attention of everyone in the office, they all stopped to stare.

Including Teresa, Elliot and Nadia who all looked at her with slacked jaws, the revelation of the scene she just made echoed in her mind, embarrassment followed.

She flushed; she sank into the nearest chair, the office returned to its norm.

"Anyway, you might wanna burn some incense, or toss some potpourri in what ever room you're going to talk to him in." Teresa added trying to forget Olivia's odd outburst.

"Why?" Nadia and Elliot asked in unison, Olivia adverted her eyes, still embarrassed.

"Well, er…lets just say he could peel the paint off the walls without even touching them."

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_Lord, Teresa was not kidding._ Elliot coincided as he and Olivia escorted David to interrogation room.

Everyone in the office noticed the wide breadth and even followed suit as the three passed.

David appeared oblivious to his own odor and walked head held high.

_He's damaged his sense of smell, has to be it. _ Olivia thought catching Moretti out of the corner of her eye, shoving his face behind the manila he was holding. She suppressed the giggle.

"Room two?" Olivia asked getting Elliot's attention.

"What? Yeah room two." He replied on the verge of gasping.

"I'll check it out." She added slipping away and leaving him with David, the reeking bag of flesh.

Olivia stumbled down the corridor gasping like a fish out of water, pulling a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose to rid herself of the smell, popping her ears in the process.

Room two had a frantic John Munch and Nadia Sands, dousing it with artificial scents.

"Well?" They both asked equally curious about how bad it could be.

Olivia could only nod, "I have never, in my entire life ever smelled anything like that before. It's like…it's in my nose now, trapped forever and I can't blow it out! I tried its not working!"

John and Nadia glanced at each other, "Right, well whoever is interviewing," she waved her hands about the interrogation room, "just don't light a match, 'k. Place might explode from all the fumes."

Olivia nodded as the two slipped out taking the aerosol cans with them and heading to the other side of the double mirror.

She found it hard to breath in the room all of the sudden, _Too many fumes…_

Olivia shifted over to the grated window, fiddled with it a moment and finally managed to pull the pane up a few inches.

The sound of rain filled her ears and slowly the thick atmosphere started to dissipate. Someone pounded against the double mirror and shouted a muffled, "What the hell are you doing?"

It was John's voice, she shrugged and replied, "It is way too thick in here, but you two did a great job."

Moments later Elliot and David were seated on opposite sides of the table, while Olivia hung to the side, arms crossed, playing the fly on the wall.

Elliot situated the white notepad and finally looked up to David, "We've been looking for you for a few days now. I suppose you already know why."

"Yes, but before I start talking I want your promise and that of this station to protect me. I want a cell here, or something." David said crossing his arms to mimic Olivia.

"You haven't done anything, we can't hold you." Elliot replied.

"Can you protect me?"

"Depends, do you think your in danger?"

"Yes."

"Who or what threatens you?"

"I said before, I won't talk until I have your guarantee of safety."

There was a knock at the door, Olivia stepped away leaning out the door as Cragen whispered something to her.

She nodded and closed the door again, "You have your protection." She informed, David smiled.

"I'm here about Cate Monty."

"Right," Elliot nodded.

David drooped his head some, feeling the pressure and magnitude of what he was about to reveal.

"Everything that Cate told you, while she was here and while you interrogated her…its true. All of it's true."

David uncrossed his arms sending Elliot a flash of his inner arm.

"Heroin?" Elliot pointed to the fading track marks.

"Did not you hear me!" David demanded slamming his palms against the metal table, causing the white notepad to jump.

It didn't faze Elliot or Olivia, who still observed from the shadows.

"Yeah, but you're an addict. How do I know what your saying is true?" Elliot said calmly.

"It is. I've been clean since she killed Chris Harris. Now she killed my brother too, I'm next. There's only one other person who was in that house left." David said leaning in.

"Who?"

"Why should I tell you? So you can bring him in to?"

"Protect him from that psycho, yes."

"He can take care of himself. I doubt Cate will ever find him."

"What did you do?"

"What?"

"To Cate. If you were there, what did you do?"

David chewed on his thumb nail, seeking that childhood comfort of his thumb.

"I only raped her once." David said not looking at him.

"_Once_? You make is sound like it's alright that you only did it _even_ once." Elliot said feeling a soft, boiling rage in his veins.

"Compared to what the others did, yes!" David said venomously, "I was a very different person then and I regret it now. I know it was wrong." David lamented.

"Is that because she's getting around too you next?" Olivia asked cynically from the shadows.

"No." He whispered, "I've hated myself ever since for that night."

"But never had enough guilt to turn yourself in." Olivia hissed.

"You don't understand." He murmured.

"Start from the beginning then. Why kill her children and attempt to kill her?" Elliot questioned going through the motions.

He looked away cringing, "I don't know the specifics of the hit, it was just another job and I was just a drudge, same with Nick. Cate wasn't supposed to live; it was all supposed to look like accident."

"Who did you work for?" Elliot asked scribbling down a few notes.

"I can't say."

"Lengsfield Philips." Olivia perked.

David couldn't hide the shudder, "If Cate doesn't kill me, he will."

"You know that's what I keep hearing that this Philips's guy. He's so powerful and supposedly controls the city, but I've never even heard of the guy." Elliot said abrasively.

David tilted his head some, "He does. He has his fingers in everyone's pie."

"Why frame Cate?"

"Easy target, it wasn't apart of Philip's original plan. So he integrated it. Most of us had some part in the trial. I was the one who removed certain manuscripts. Jack and Chris took care of the bribes. That's all I know." He answered showing remorse.

"I've been seeing her everywhere! I've been living on the streets since Chris died and eating from dumpsters to sacred to go to my apartment. I'll do whatever you want me too; just keep her away from me!" David cracked, breaking down into sobs.

Elliot and Olivia looked at him in pity and realized just how pathetic he really was.

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_Oh this is good._ David Hebel thought as he sat in a holding cell he insisted on, convinced that Cate would come here eventually and when she did he wanted a barrier between them.

He chewed on the warm fries and sipped at the bottle soda, clean-shaven, showered and dressed in fresh clothing.

It stopped raining but the city had an overcast tone to it, his cell was darker as a result.

He was lost in the freshly and fantastic, yet mediocre food that he didn't hear the footsteps headed to his cell, but did hear the severe sound of the locked being almost raped by its key.

David didn't freeze like a deer in headlights when he saw who stood at the door, instead he pushed himself against the wall of his cell, spilling the bottle and scattering the food.

"He sent you! Ah, shit!" He hissed because he forgot how to scream.

"Shut-up, you stupid fuck. He didn't send me." Andrew Gage replied towering in the bar doorway.

"Swear?"

"Yes. I'm here for other reasons. Why are you here?"

David hesitated, "Cate's coming for me."

"So you sellout and come here."

"I didn't have a choice."

"The hell you didn't. I told you to get the hell out of the city when she nailed Chris."

"I tried. I even contacted everyone like you said. They all brushed it off and now look at them…its hard being a fiend, I keep trying to leave and I couldn't…then I started seeing her…everywhere. I even got hit by a car because of her." He lamented.

"You idiot. You've promised them information and given them more then you should. Why didn't you just eat a bullet?" Andrew demanded crossing his arms.

"Jon, I don't want to die. I'm sacred of death. And I know I'm gonna _pay_ for _everything_." He wisped at the small tears.

"How beautiful, David Hebel finally found religion." Andrew said sarcastically.

"Fuck you!" He spat, "Maybe you should too! Haven't you thought about Cate coming for you? Maybe she'll rape your ass like she did Jack's!"

The harsh words didn't faze him, "No she won't."

"What makes you so sure!"

Andrew stared at David's crumbled form pressed against the cold cinderblock wall, and unwillingly recalled the first time he met David Hebel.

Andrew was arrested in Monterrey, Mexico and deported back to the states for a bank heist several months prior in the state of California.

Wound up in Washburn Minimum Security Prison in California were he met the Hebel brothers and Christopher Harris.

The four bonded and became close in the prison, even started their own contraband business. Everything went well until Andrew found David unconscious and lying on the shower room floor alone, with his face busted in and had been severely penetrated.

He could still see the water from the showerhead mixing with the blood and swirl into the drain, a pretty pink.

What awful day that was, picking him up and dragging him out from under the showerhead. So vulnerable and track marks for all to see, no longer in his inner arms but also under his toenails.

After that he assigned himself to David, he also being the youngest of the group gave him the mien of being the kid-brother to everyone.

Later he, Chris and Nick found the inmates who attacked David and with a bribe to the appropriate guards; they managed to have some _private time_ with the individuals.

How did he feel now, staring down at David's pathetic body, thin from stress and heroin withdrawal, a crumbled and wreathing mass of self-loathing flesh?

Did he still feel he should protect him? Or use him to lure Monty into the station to end this reign of murder and revenge.

"What makes me sure David…" he trailed off searching for the right words somewhere embedded in the floor of the cell, "Is that I'm going to kill Cate Monty, before she even has a chance to kill me. She won't know what hit her."

(End Chapter Thirteen)

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	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

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"Do you think he's full of shit?" Olivia asked Elliot as they grazed in the break room.

He shrugged pulling a bag of chips to his side of the table, "I don't know. He seemed sincere, but he's an addict too. But it kind of makes things fall into place, maybe Cate was telling the truth and she is a vigilante, but then I think about what she did to Anita Garcia."

Olivia nodded recalling the hideous scene, "We have a witness and participant in the Monty murders. I wonder when she'll come here."

"I thought about that too, she's probably out there looking for him right now." He nibbled on a chip.

"I wondered the entire time she was here if she was telling the truth, I felt like this chick instinct," she looked up at him. "Then Hebel mentioned having removed certain manuscripts during the trial and the bribes. It certainly looks like Cate was telling the truth. But she did murder ten different people that we know of and have evidence for, which makes her creditably drop as murder to her children and rise as a vigilante."

Elliot nodded, "Deep down and mixed with the influence of the last few days and Hebel's account," he spoke lower, "I really don't think she killed her children or mutilated her body." He raised a finger to emphasize, "But I sill think she is insane."

She shrugged at his opinion, "That may be."

_A mother seeking vengeance for her children…I can see that…Will I be as devoted?_

"Elliot, you said you wanted to know what's been bothering me." Her focus slipped out into the office through the break room window.

He glanced at her noticing the sudden change in conversation, "Still do. I wasn't very convinced with our last heart to heart." He said with a sly smile that made her return it.

"Fine, let's grab some chow tonight. I'd rather tell you in private, ok." Olivia propositioned.

"Sure." Elliot nodded, thankful that she was going too finally to come clean about what had been hanging over her head and causing her so much anxiety.

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Cate Monty wrestled with the collar of the police uniform, shoving two fingers between her throat and the coarse fabric, tugging gently.

The uniform and radio were easy to come by, both taken from a female officer's locker in twenty-third precinct, although it did cost Cate a crisp Benjamin for the items.

The female thief she hired was supposedly the best at breaking and entering in the city. Apparently she was, she managed to get in and get out of the twenty-third without anyone even noticing her.

Cate pulled the leather belt into the loops and latched it over her navel.

Then shrugged at the new weight of the utility belt that went over the leather belt, each item bounced against her waist and legs, each one also had a story behind it.

The Billy club she had taken off a beat officer sometime ago one night she was scouring the city looking for Lengsfield Philips. She didn't find him that night; instead found a corrupt officer beating the hell out of some gang member, alone, without back-up.

It wasn't hard to figure out what had transpired between the two, a suit case filled with money and a Crown Vic trunk filled with cocaine.

A drug deal gone sour.

So she intervened, taking the club from him and smashing him against the nearest wall. It was none of her business and they were both guilty as sin, same with her, but it didn't seem right for him to just beat an unarmed man to the point were he lost consciousness.

She was a few yards from the area when she realized she still had the bloody Billy club in her grasp, and yet she didn't discard it.

Then the handcuffs, gleaming on her backside, her own bracelets that had been slapped on her as she was passing through Black Rock, West Virginia.

She had bought a car not realizing it was stolen in Bakers, Indiana.

Should have felt something amiss when she bargained with the seller, he was far too lenient with the price, but at the time she chalked that little discrepancy to the fact the car was a POS.

How wrong she was.

There she was face down on the hood of the stolen vehicle, in a backward town, population sixty-two, with the bugling Deputy rummaging about her truck.

He had called for back-up and she expected any minute for headlights to shine up her skirt, flashing the world.

Last minute she took off into the unfenced woods. Ran awkwardly with the cuffs and finally managed to wriggle out of the cuffs by lying on the earth and pulling her arms over her ass and legs.

Then kept them went she finally picked them with a splinter of fencing wire.

The last part of her uniform was the gun, she hated guns.

Nine milliliter, standard uniform police issue bought in a back alley as a Saturday Night Special, from a seller who worked for The Merchant.

No questions asked and ammunition included.

The gun pattered against her thigh as she latched the belt clasp shut.

_Hope I don't have to use it._

She took one more look in the full length mirror hanging on the bathroom door, enveloped in the black police uniform and shinny shoes to match.

Cate stepped in to get a closer look at her face, it wasn't her face though. The burn tissue at her chin and cheek and throat, was covered by soft latex, a face mask.

Minnie Stone the aspiring film make-up artist in Dove, New Mexico taught her how to mix the latex and take moldings of a model's faces in order to create a mask.

She wondered if Minnie ever made it to the make-up rooms behind the Hollywood movie scenes.

Cate also wore a dark wig that was unbelievably itchy.

All part of the masquerade officer she would portray in the SVU lock-up, in order to get close to David Hebel and kill him.

She had been in a coffee shop that morning, slurping carefully at a cup of green tea when four patrol officers met at the shop ordering some coffee and various pastries.

Cate hadn't meant to eavesdrop as she hid behind her copy of the Times from yesterday, but did nevertheless.

"_It's insane, there's been an APD out on Hebel for the last two days and he just turns himself in_."

She glanced over at the mention of Hebel, still lingering behind the pages of newspaper, articles of her own escape plastered on the front-page.

"_Yeah, I know what you mean."_

"_To bad Monty can't nail him now."_

They erupted into laughter whereas Cate smirked. She had been searching for him for days now and they just dropped him right into her lap.

After a few hours of internet hacking at the local public library she managed to find out were David Hebel was being retained from the easily penetrated NYPD database.

The same station she had been imprisoned at, ironic.

Cate spent the rest of the day preparing for an evening of infiltration. Contacting the right people, buying the right products for the mask and having a fake history made up for her.

The new identity she would assume had an expiration date; it would only last forty-eight hours.

She adjusted the rectangular nametag pinned over her left breast pocket.

Officer Jennifer Laurence.

Fiddled with the false badge clipped to her breast pocket, already memorized the number and practiced a fading New York accent to match her voice.

Stepped back from the mirror once last time to inspect the uniform for any flaws, only noticing a bit of lint on her shoulder, she brushed it off, confidently.

_Showtime._

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"You ready?" Elliot questioned with his raincoat slumped over his forearm.

Olivia nodded pulling her jacket on, "In place in particular you want to go?"

He shrugged, "This is your date, you pick."

She rolled her eyes at him, "Oh goody our first date." She huffed sarcastically, "Blanches?"

"Yeah, a nice, fat, artery, corroding all-American cheeseburger does sound good."

"With greasy paper, rotting fries too." Olivia added pointing her finger at him.

"Oh yes, forgot about that." He coincided, "And a soda-water."

"A cool lemonade sounds better. G'Night Captain." Olivia waved at Cragen who nodded with a cord-phone attached to his ear.

The squad room was quieting down as most of their shift slowly filtered out for the night.

John left some time ago, as did Fin and Nadia, but Andrew remained clicking away at his laptop.

"Going home soon, right Gage." Elliot called; it wasn't a request or question, more of an order.

"Yeah…just tying up a loose end." Andrew waved at him.

_I bet,_ Elliot thought, something always seemed sort of _off_ to him regarding Andrew. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He shook the feeling off as he and his partner of nearly seven years approached the elevator, leaving as partners and would soon become closer as friends.

Partners first, friends later.

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_That's a lot of blood._

Cate wiped David Hebel's blood off her face with his coarse bed sheet, then her hands after she wrote her statement.

The adrenaline slowly dissipated in her body, the endorphins wearing off quietly and she started to feel the pain in her jaw, stomach and eye.

David didn't go down easy, _But they never do._

Cate was all but drenched in the dark sticky, liquid; spatters in her fake hair and on the stolen uniform.

David Hebel lay strangled on the pea-painted concrete cell floor, nose severally broken, lips split and bleeding from the mouth.

_I punctured a lung. _Cate realized.

She recalled while she pinned him to the floor, straddling him harshly, with her bare hands contorting his throat, with his last ounce of strength he spewed a wad of blood and tissue into her face, most likely from the lung.

_Internal tissue damage._ The field medic in her reported, the one part of her that still respected the Hippocratic Oath.

He was breathing haggardly even before she crushed his throat.

David didn't scream. He didn't have time too; merely huffed with pain from every blow she delivered or hissed with brittle spite when he managed to attack her.

She wondered how she would get out of the station now, blood coated and tussled; she stuck out like a nail in a board.

She'd risk it though.

Stumbling out of the cell, patting her hair down as much as she could, re-locking the door and smoothing the uniform in the process.

The guards posted at the end of the wing were still absent. She moseyed in like one of the good ol' girls earlier, offering to take their shift while they could get some coffee.

They both agreed, but reluctantly; nothing a soft female smile couldn't fix.

Both officers' were greener than grass too.

_Two left._

She focused on the number, _Two bastards left and I'm done._

The Billy club pattered softy against her thigh as she walked quickly passed the abandon guard station.

Heels of the smooth, shiny uniform shoes clicked like horse hoofs, one left a faint splotch of blood with every step.

She didn't notice though.

Cate knew she couldn't risk leaving the same way she entered, through the lobby door, not looking like this, impossible.

She'd have to find that exit from her previous escape or another one.

After walking carefully, she found the appropriate hall, noting the gleaming and glowing 'EXIT' sign, smiling.

Then stopped in her tracks, stepping quickly behind the nearest cover, a vending machine, she focused on the odd sounds coming from the dark hall leading to the exit, straining to hear.

A giggle echoed down the hall.

_Female._

Then a masculine huff followed and stretched into heavy breathing.

Cate rolled her eyes understanding what was transpiring not fifteen feet from her.

_Naughty, naughty. You two know better then that, _she shamed them in her mind; she'd have to find another way out.

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"Hold the door!" Detective Antonio Moretti yelped.

Elliot shoved his hand against the closing elevator doors, they jerked back at the sudden movement.

"Come on, Bernice." Moretti said gently to the small girl clutching his hand as he guided her into the cage.

Elliot and Olivia moved aside to make more room.

"I got the floor!" Bernice smiled toddling toward the number panel before Moretti could stop her and managed to press the button for every floor by sliding chubby little fingers from top to bottom.

Elliot and Olivia looked away as he verbally scolded his young step-daughter.

Olivia looked at her partner depressingly knowing they would wind up visiting every level.

He shrugged at her, sending the message at little kids are little kids. He felt a pang of pain as he thought about is own children.

They were back in the city, but with their mom, he wouldn't get to see them until the weekend.

_Damn._

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Cate quietly twisted the doorknob for the stairwell, it didn't budge.

_Shit._

She pressed against it getting nothing, _This shouldn't be locked._

Cate backed away frustrated then made the fragile and razor decision, _I going to have to take the elevator to the next floor._

_Shit._

The elevator area was deserted as she pressed the up button, still amazed no one had noticed her yet or at least appeared out of nowhere.

Amazing luck.

But Cate didn't believe in luck.

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Moretti and Bernice stepped off onto the last floor, apologizing to his colleagues for his step-daughter's behavior.

The partners shrugged it off in comfortable silence, counting the floors off nearing the garage level. Stopping at every floor, the doors would spread for a few moments as the two would stand there, then shut after a few seconds.

This went on for six levels; the next was lock-up.

Olivia and Elliot had become quickly jaded to the pattern, doors open, they stand, then shut and go about their way.

Not giving the floor's occupants a second thought, maybe a shy smile or nod that would be it.

Then the doors spread revealing the lock-up ground level, neither were prepared for who they were about to see.

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Elliot recognized Cate Monty first; her eyes gave her away, set like piercing gemstones beneath the bloody and tussled wig.

Then the light speckles of blood peppered about her face confirmed her identity, along with the darkening black eye.

"Son of a bitch!" Elliot hissed as he and Olivia both drew their Glocks and time begin to slow down as Cate backed away and started to run.

"Stop! Now!" Cate heard Olivia scream and half expected the order to be flanked by gunfire, but it wasn't.

Cate stormed throughout various corridors, headed for the only fire exit on the floor, _With the fucking cops or without the fucking cops! _

A mesh of chaotic sounds filled the level, screaming orders from Elliot and Olivia and the frazzled, frantic yells of the two partially undressed uniforms.

Cate stormed passed them, both still shocked from the multiple outbursts, as she flung herself against the lever of the 'EXIT' and the fire alarm sounded.

"Check Hebel!" Elliot yelled to Olivia who cut sideways and Elliot continued to follow Cate. The fire alarm was earsplitting as he ran past the two uniforms franticly trying to dress themselves.

_I'll deal with you two later. _

It had started raining again Elliot noted as he stepped lightly over the fire exit threshold, just in time to see Cate running down the alleyway into the street.

Cate tore the bouncing wig of her head along with the net and didn't stop running, Elliot not far behind on the slick concrete, thoroughly becoming soaked.

She didn't bother to stop and check for cars, merely ran into the street causing several vehicles to screech to a halt on the slippery pavement, rain and car horns filled the air.

Cate ignored them and sprinted carefully to the adjoining alleyway, Elliot following still.

They scaled chain link fences, rattled by garbage cans, stumbled over trash debris and slid along wet concrete and pavement.

Terrified alley cats, winos and other city drivers.

This went on for what seemed like eternity for Elliot and Cate.

Running blind and stumbling with little effort, buckling and pulling muscles, until Cate could take it no more.

She stopped.

Ran filled Elliot's eyes; he wiped the cold liquid away with his hand, still gripping his Glock.

Suddenly he lost sight of Cate in the newest dark alleyway, breathing heavily and realized he didn't know where he was.

Elliot stopped abruptly, trying to control his breathing, and started focusing in the wet darkness, straining to hear beyond the hard rain drops.

Cate huffed lightly and panted evenly, pressed hard against the gritty brick wall, clothed in shadows as she waited with patience for Elliot to pass.

When he did, Glock raised and eyes piercing ahead, Cate attacked.

She grabbed his wrist first causing the gun to discharge one mighty shot into the rain cloud covered sky and created a brilliant flash for only a moment.

The Glock stumbled from his grasp and clattered into the darkness.

The two wrestled and jerked in the pattering, cold pitch.

Elliot didn't believe in hitting a woman or hitting anyone for that matter except in self-defense, and that most definitely applied at the moment.

He had never seen anyone move that fast, side steps and smooth motions like she was floating. Every now and then he'd see a fickler of her, silhouetted against a spurt of lighting.

Elliot finally found the upper hand after several frantic minutes of combat. In Cate's temporary exhaustion he managed to grasp both her arms and sling her against the nearest crumbling brick wall.

She gasped as the oxygen escaped her lungs and Elliot forced her to the ground, straddling her from the back, shoving her face into the dirty, wet concrete.

Cate screamed.

Elliot didn't know if it was out of terror or rage.

_Most likely both. _

"You bastard! No!"

"Stop fighting!"

"Go to hell!"

Elliot fumbled for his handcuffs and harshly cuffed her pale wrists, tighter then he would have any other perpetrator.

"Cate Monty you're under arrest—"

"No!" She stretched the statement causing it to echo throughout the area.

Elliot had, had enough of her and pulled up shoving her against the brick wall.

Rain continued to pour; lighting burst and thunder rolled in the distance.

"This isn't right, Stabler! And you know it!"

"Shut-up."

Cate withered against the wall, inadvertently grinding her face causing the latex mask to tear.

"You're a cop-killer now, too! Where'd you get the uniform?" He demanded off the record still holding her against the wall, whispering hard in her ear.

"I'm not a cop-killer!"

"No? You're just a psycho then?"

"Fuck you!" She cried into the wall.

"You killed him didn't you? Hebel! You're only proof of innocence!"

"What?"

"David Hebel, he confessed to raping you and helping kill your children. He was your only proof and you killed him, didn't you!" He screamed passionately, still unsure of where he was and ignoring the fact he had yet to call for back-up.

Cate turned silent.

"Did you believe him?" She finally whispered over the rain, loud enough for him and only him to hear.

He faltered for a moment, considering her question, then fumbled for his radio with one hand, while still pinning Cate against the brick wall with the other.

_Sorry about this, Stabler. _

Elliot wasn't sure what happened.

One minute he was about to call for back-up the next he was lying on the gross concrete with a pounding ache at his temple and Cate running away into the darkness again, still cuffed.

"Ah…fuck…" He moaned reaching for his radio then caught a glimmer of his Glock's hilt and crept over to it, rain pattered into his back but he couldn't really feel it.

He stood shakily, searching for that persistence he had only moments ago, to stop Cate.

Elliot focused beyond the pain and peered into the darkness to start the pursuit again.

Cate wasn't difficult to spot this time, running awkwardly with her arms pinned behind her back.

A rush of water filled Elliot's ears as realized where they were at.

_The piers._

The darkness of the long alleyway changed to a soft orange from an overhead dock light, no flies or moths fluttered under its hood.

Cate didn't stop running or look behind her as she ran out of ground; she knew Elliot wouldn't give up.

_East river,_ she realized but didn't stop, _I survived it before, and I can do it again. _

She stomped over the soft wooden planks of the nearest pier with the over head dock light and slid.

Cate felt her legs fill with soft splinters and then her weight crushed the planks beneath her.

She screamed out of reflex as the planks snapped and the dark water engulfed her.

The shock caused her to sigh underwater and suck in the awful liquid.

Cate kicked hard with the shoes on in the darkness avoiding the piers pillars and breached when she thought she was in the clear, spewing the terrible water and sucking in moist breaths.

She bobbed in the water just in time to see the pier she fell though, collapse.

The wood twisted and snapped off the concrete bank, but the dock light managed to stay attached to the bank, it slumped severely.

Cate quickly submerged herself and twisted in the cuffs, pulling her arms over her ass and legs so the cuffs were in front of her.

Breached again and jerked at her hair for one of the pins used to tact the wig on. After finding one she swiftly picked the lock on the handcuffs and allowed them to fall into the dark depths.

After pulling the shoes off and the utility belt, she started to swim with sharper strokes toward the dock light.

An awful feeling appeared in her stomach, as she came closer to the pier light hanging over the twisted mass of wood. She noted one of Elliot's shoes on the concrete bank, his jacket near by.

Elliot was nowhere to be seen.

Fear nibbled at her temples and she looked at the mass of twisted wood with horror, after a quick breath she dove into the depths, searching for her pursuer.

(End Chapter Fifteen)

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	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

A/N: Thanks to those who take the time to review, ya'll are very motivating. So, as for everyone else…the other 52 of ya'll that are just reading…how about some reviews! I've seen the all hits and favorites for this sucker…come on ya'll. Give me a bone here!

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"Check Hebel!" Elliot yelled to Olivia who cut sideways headed toward the cells. No point in arguing about it, Elliot was quicker then she and he'd have Cate in custody in no time.

Olivia's flat heels pounded the floor echoing off the walls as she reached lock-up, finding the guard station empty.

"Ah shit." She had a quick vision in her mind's eye of finding two dead guards any minute. She didn't put that pass Cate, _She already evolved with Garcia. Why not move up the chain and kill cops too?_

She started jogging again, Glock in hand and skidded to a halt at David Hebel's cell.

"ITS JUST BUSINESS"

That was the first thing she saw written over David Hebel's body. She swiftly moved back to the guard station and retrieved the extra key, keyed the lock, then stepped into the cell inhaling the usual smells at a murder scene, especially one of Cate Monty's murder scenes.

_Have to be sure,_ Olivia knelt down and pressed two fingers into his neck, feeling for just a moment, _To late, he's dead._

She yanked her cell phone from her slacks and re-holstered her Glock calling Cragen, within minutes the entire area was swarming with professional personnel.

"Where's Elliot?" He demanded when Olivia was done briefing him about the situation.

She looked startled, "He went after Cate. He hasn't come back yet has he?"

"No. Not that I know of. I want to know right now, who was on shift!" Cragen yelled turning away from Olivia, he went from pale to a dark shade of red, fury spewing from his pours.

He started shouting out orders for a K-9 unit to track Cate's trail and for someone to call the rest of his Squad. In all the chaos no one noticed Andrew Gage slip away or even being present at the scene.

Quickly, quietly and stealthy.

Just as he was taught to do.

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In the orange glaze and slowing rain Elliot saw Cate run out on the nearest pier, then slide on the slick planks and scream while crashing through the recently rain rotted pier.

Out of reflex he pulled shoes off, wrapped his Glock, cell and radio in his jacket, discarding them on the concrete bank.

He carefully walked toward the awkward gaping hole in the planks, hearing the river water rush and the pier creak with warning.

Elliot didn't realize how much pressure he placed on the pier. He didn't know the concrete anchors had corroded due to the days of rain and started snapping from Cate's run.

He partially fell through the pier and became pinned as the planks started to fold around him. The next thing he knew he was underwater, immobilized against the thick mud of the river floor and heavy water logged planks.

_Shit. _

Holding stale breath, he tried to lift the planks off his waist and legs. Terrible visions of death started running though his mind, they changed to thoughts of his children and only of his children.

Gripping the heavily planks, digging nails into the soft wood and pushed again, nothing.

He started to loose air.

_Not like this_, he pleaded, _Not this way._

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Darkness.

Fluidity and thick.

Rushing and condensed.

Cold.

So cold.

But silent.

Silent to the point of deafening.

Cate kicked hard in the twisting uniform, pushing through the water, searching for Elliot.

The water pressed against her slit eyes until avail, she saw the almost glowing white button shirt, bounce against the silent liquid.

Elliot struggled against the crushing weight, withering and causing tuffs of earth to rise around him.

Cate pushed harder and appeared at his side, grabbing the slick planks, still holding her breath and lifted.

Elliot was surprised, _Why didn't she keep going?_

For the moment they both forgot who they were on the surface; an officer of the law and a wanted killer.

Here, under the grippingly wicked and silence realm of water they were humans, trying to survive.

An eternity seemed to pass for Elliot. A new darkness filled his eyes and a depressing burden wrapped around his mind, _I'm drowning…so this is death…_

He stopped pushing against the planks and working with Cate.

_No! God no! _Cate mentally screamed as Elliot started to float lifelessly with the water currents.

A new found self-contempt filled her dead soul, _This is my fault!_

Adrenaline fueled by rage is what finally lifted the planks enough for her to press a palm to his chest and push him out from under the wood.

Cate kicked hard feeling her own oxygen start to run thin, one arm wrapped around his waist, gripping his belt.

_So close. Come on! You can do this!_

Cate found herself looking up at the surface, seeing the orange glow of the dock light and perfect circles of rain drops patter on the watery glaze; the boundary between life and death.

Their breach was magnificent; a burst of crashing water, inhuman cries and entangled limbs.

Cate inhaled hard and gasped for air. The tiny veins in her nasal passages burst giving her a terrible nosebleed.

She paddled with one hand toward the concrete bank, jerking Elliot's lifeless body, knowing she only had minutes it revive him.

After treacherous seconds and destroyed fingernails she managed to pull Elliot up the crumbling concrete beneath the slumping pier light.

Laid him on his back, forcefully spread his tie around his neck, cleared his mouth with two fingers and pressed her ear against his chest listening for his heart beat over the rain drops.

Nothing.

Cate wiped her own gushing blood away from her mouth and nose and started to perform CPR.

Over and over again, clamp his nose, breath into his mouth and interlace her fingers across his chest and press three times.

The outlook looked beak.

_No. Come on! _

Again and again.

Panic gripped her dark soul.

No change.

She refused to take a life that had done nothing to her.

Cate forced more oxygen into his mouth, pinching his nose and heard a wet gasp.

At first she thought it was her own, then coughing followed.

She sat back and turned Elliot on his side when he started to spew water and the vomit that followed. Euphoric relief washed over her.

Elliot felt shaky as he propped himself up on his arm, retching still.

Slowly the memories of what happed filled his mind, then the undeniable fact of what transpired under the water and on the bank became realized.

The woman he had been pursing for so many days, the woman who took the law into her hands and the woman he marked as a psychotic homicidal killer, _This woman… that woman…saved my life._

After the last bitter, burning torrent of vomit escaped his mouth and the tears stopped flooding his eyes, he allowed Cate to pull him back and gently help him sit up.

Before either one could speak gunfire filled the air.

Elliot felt the hot lead strike his chest and the saw the brilliant starburst explosion of his blood crash and mingle with the diamond rain drops.

He didn't hear himself scream, but was sure he did.

Cate was shot next and screamed inhumanly.

The multiple sounds of gunfire filled the air as Cate crawled to Elliot's crumbled jacket, praying his gun was still there.

It was.

She gripped it, leveled it and pulled the trigger in fast repetition in the direction of the unknown assailant.

"I hate guns!" Cate cried with bloody passion on her knees.

The assailant stepped forward and for a moment Cate saw his face and she thought recognized him.

She unloaded the entire clip and heard the male cry, then the assailant rushed away.

Nothing happened for several seconds, she didn't hear him reload, but knew she had shot him.

Discarding the gun and gathering up Elliot's jacket, Cate crawled back to his bleeding and unconscious body.

She sobbed loudly upon seeing him again, "No! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Threads of split escaped her mouth, "Not like this! Fuck!"

Cate wrapped Elliot's jacket into a tight wad, allowing his cell and radio to fall at her busted knees.

She pressed the jacket against the chest wound, crying hard, feeling and tasting the salty tears and stringy, bloody snot.

It was never supposed to be like this, it was just supposed to be her, her selfish vengeance and her way.

Only certain people were supposed to die and Elliot Stabler was not one of them.

_This is all my fault. _

_Why am I doing this? _

_Look what I've done!_

Cate pressed harder watching his shirt turn from white to red and then pinkish from the pouring rain.

Her eyes drew upward to the cascading heavens filling with more hot tears, looking for answers, only to blame herself again.

_Help._

The voice of that dead field medic brought her back to earth.

_Call for help, now._

Cate continued to press against the gushing wound, ignoring her own injuries; the gunshot wounds she hadn't noticed yet and the rushing blood from her nostrils.

She clicked his radio first shouting that an officer was shot, but couldn't give a location other then the East River piers.

Next she called 9-1-1 on his cell and ordered them to trace the call and ignored their request to stay on the line, but left the phone on and stopped talking to the operator.

Cate stayed with Elliot the entire time, holding his chest. Even when she heard the sirens in the distance she stayed.

As they become louder, she stayed.

As they multiplied, she stayed.

When the lights started to flash and bounce on the nearby abounded buildings, she stayed.

And when the ambulances and police cars rushed upon them, she stayed.

Cate bounced on the balls of her sock covered feet as officers and paramedics ran toward her, then let go of Elliot's chest at the absolute last second and jumped into the river.

Engulfed in the cold darkness and shot at by the officers on the bank.

Bleeding still and half dead.

Didn't look back and thought about the male assailant who attacked them both, _I know his face._

…_I've seen you before._

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"Ah shit." Andrew hissed holding his bleeding leg while pressed up against a small engine repair building a few blocks away from Elliot and Cate.

He hadn't expected Cate to fire back at him, _Had a chance and fucked it all up._

Andrew pulled his belt off and used it as a tourniquet for his leg; he couldn't go to a hospital, he knew that.

He continued to stumble toward his apartment in the rain, ignoring the other darkly humans sulking around the city that time of night.

They didn't look at him twice, limping and soaked in a trench coat. His face covered by his hair and he emitted the overall sign of 'Stay away'.

The rain kept falling even as he reached his apartment. He knew he would have to explain his absence to Cragen during Elliot and Cate's frantic dash through the city, he started to formulate another lie.

The two had been difficult to find, it was the solitary gunshot that called him to the piers.

_Elliot must have shot her or shot at her. _

He shrugged heading to the elevator, then his door, fumbling for his cold, slick keys, dripping on the floor.

His apartment was quiet as he removed his sopping trench coat and walked with sopping steps to his bathroom, leering into his bedroom on the way.

The bed was empty and the sheets tossed the same way had had left them this morning. He was thankful that Elettra Acardi hadn't showed up unannounced, nude and practically spread-eagle out on his bed, as she had before.

Not that he was complaining about her surprise visits and the hours of bliss and pleasure that followed, he just couldn't deal with _that_ right now.

Slipping into his bathroom and taking a seat on the slick toilet lid, he slung his bleeding leg into his bathtub, groaning heavily with pain.

Andrew fumbled for his personal cell phone, making the quick call to The Doctor; he knew he wouldn't be able to remove the bullet himself.

_I wonder how bad I hit her._

He knew he had shot Cate, but didn't know he shot Elliot.

Just one of those things.

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It was 10:28 p.m. in St. Marks hospital as Kathy and Maureen Stabler rushed in, bearing worry and confusion.

_God, what's happened! _Kathy demanded in her mind.

Captain Donald Cragen hadn't been specific when he called her, merely saying Elliot had been hurt and she needed to get to the hospital.

"Elliot Stabler, he's a cop! Where is he?" Kathy asked in near hysterics to the front lobby desk clerk.

"Ma'am, please calm down." The clerk said soothingly.

"I—I need to know!" She wailed.

"Ms. Stabler."

The voice was soothing and calm on her ears, as she turned to see Cragen and Fin, both trying to look as calm and composed as possible.

"Is he?" She asked narrowing her eyes with fragile scorn, prepared to explode and fade into sorrow if her ex-husband and the father of her children was dead.

"He's fine, he just came out of surgery." Cragen assured her.

The relief was obvious on Kathy's face and body. It was mirrored by Maureen.

"What happened?" She asked civilly.

"He was shot," Kathy faltered at Cragen's words. "We don't have the complete story yet, but he's fine."

"Do you know who shot him?"

"No, it's too early to say."

She nodded, "Can I see him?"

"Yeah. Come with me."

The four made the short journey to the recovery level and after a quick briefing from Elliot's Doctor, Kathy was allowed to see him, alone.

Her hands were shaking as she stepped into his room. Elliot was lying on the hospital bed, wearing a thin hospital gown and cover by the scratchy, infertile blankets up to his chest.

An IV protruded from his inner arm, tubes to help his breathing were situated in his nostrils and a heart monitor was hooked to his chest.

Kathy made a quick assessment of his injuries—the ones she could see—nicks on his face with slight bruising and his gauzed knuckles.

_You've been fighting. _

"Oh, Elliot." She whispered to the silence and moved closer to her unconscious ex-husband's body, timidly slipping her fingers into his gauzed wrapped hand.

She still loved him, but wasn't in love with him.

She loved him because he was the father of their children.

And Kathy prayed he'd wake up soon and in good health.

He had too, not for her, but for their children.

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"Where is your partner?" John questioned to Nadia as she fluttered around the crime scene at the East River Pier sixteen.

It had stopped raining, but the roaring clouds threaten to burst above them again at any second.

"I don't have a clue. I keep getting his voice mail." Nadia replied as she squatted next to the blood stain and chunky vomit steaks were Elliot was lying only a few hours ago, carefully piecing the scene together.

"Hard to believe he chased her nine blocks in the rain." Nadia murmured glancing over that Elliot's gun surrounded by bright orange CSU markers.

"Well, that's Stabler. Likes to take things to the limit." John replied under the hot CSU lights planted in various spots around the crime scene.

"What's your theory, little Nadia?" John asked crossing his arms as she stood back up.

"When our guys and the paramedics showed up they said Monty stayed with Elliot, keeping pressure on the gunshot. Then the vomit suggests that Elliot nearly drowned and Cate revived him. I'm sure it involved the pier." She pointed at the mass of twisted wood sitting in the river.

John nodded.

"Then the fact that Elliot's gun was emptied into that brick wall over there suggest that…well, hell I'm not sure yet. The slugs from the wall and Elliot's chest are still at Ballistics." Nadia fluffed her at humid hair, trying to stop it from tickling her neck.

"The dive team found Elliot's handcuffs in the river, along with a police uniform belt with a gun, handcuffs and baton, and a shoe." John added.

"Monty's?"

"Looks like it. CSU also found blood on the brick wall over there. Analysis will be back in an hour or so. I'm about as lost as you on this, were just going to have to wait for Elliot to fill us in." John replied.

"Yeah," she shrugged and decided to call Andrew again, this time he picked up.

She was suspired and couldn't stop the hostile words that came out of her mouth, "Were in the fuck have you been!"

"_Nice to hear from you too. Sleeping. Why?"_ He asked over the bad connection.

She gawked at his words, "Is your radio not on?"

"_No. I like to have it off when I sleep."_

"Shit, man. Monty killed Hebel, yadda, yadda, Elliot chased her and was shot as a result. He's in the hospital right now. Get your ass to St. Marks, I'll meet you there." Nadia shut the phone off.

Not taking the time to notice Andrew's reaction during the connection.

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It was 11:43 p.m. in St. Marks hospital when Nadia and John walked down the recovery level's hall, greeted by Fin, Olivia and Cragen.

"How is he?" John asked immediately.

"Fine, but not awake, yet." Cragen answered, "Anything at the scene?"

"Nothing conclusive. Hopefully Elliot will fill us in." Nadia replied Cragen nodded.

"Was Monty's gun found?" Cragen shifted subjects.

"Yeah, along with Elliot's cuffs." John crossed his arms.

"What caliber?" Fin jumped in.

John paused, "Nine mil."

"Oh shit." Olivia murmured backing away, Fin and Cragen reacted much of the same way.

"What?" Nadia and John asked in unison.

"Elliot carries a .three fifty-seven. He was shot with a .thirty-eight." Olivia rubbed her fingers through her hair.

"He was shot by someone else." Nadia breathed.

Just then Andrew walked up, trying his best to conceal the limp, he was convincing enough.

"What happened?" He asked coming to a stop.

"Were have you been?" Olivia, Cragen and Fin asked all at the same time.

Andrew lied and played it off.

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The Thirty-Eighth Day

September 9, 2005 Friday

8:09 a.m. the next day was around the time Elliot woke up in the recovery room, groggy, disoriented and alone.

He tried to set up and thought his head would explode. The searing throb rippled in his skull, absolute ache.

Carefully he leaned back, desperately trying to remember what happened.

_The docks._

G_unfire. Not mine…someone else's…_

_Water…_

_I was shot…_

_What about Cate? _

_She saved me… _

The sound of the room's door being pushed open pulled him back to the present, "Oh, your wife will hate that she missed you. She left not twenty minutes ago." The young nursed smiled.

_Kathy? She was here? _

"My ex-wife was here."

The nurse bit back, "Sorry, I didn't know you two were divorced."

He shrugged, "Don't worry about it. What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I was shot. What about the woman?"

The nurse looked confused, "Mr. Stabler, you were the only one brought in. I need to call your surgeon and Captain."

Before he could ask anything more she rushed out and was replaced moments later by the surgeon who operated on him.

"Detective, I'm Miguel Gonzales." The surgeon shook his hand and hovered over to the end of his bed flipping his blankets up revealing his bare feet.

He pulled his pen from his breast pocket, "After I removed the bullet from your chest, one of my nurses noticed you had extensive bruising and tissue damage to your legs. Can you feel this?" He ran the pen along the sole of his foot.

He could and had to stifle the urge to laugh, "Yes, I can feel that."

"Do you know what happened to your legs?" He asked covering his feet back up.

"I was pinned to the bottom of East River by waterlogged pier planks." Elliot answered solemnly, as if it happened to everyone at on time or another.

Miguel fought to hide his shock, "That would explain the mud in your hair when you first came in."

Elliot nodded.

"The bullet was lodged six centimeters from your heart. I'm very pleased with the operation and how little blood you lost. You'll have a complete recovery in few days, but I want to keep you here a few more days." Miguel concluded coming to a stop next to his bed again, clasping his hands together.

But Elliot sensed he was hiding something or at least avoiding.

"Your Captain will be in at any moment, I'll leave you to wait for him." Miguel added heading for the door.

"Doc,"

Miguel looked back at him, "Yes?"

"How close to death was I?" Elliot asked seriously.

Miguel held back then dropped his head some, tousling his dark, glazed hair, "I was told someone was keeping pressure on your chest wound when the paramedics arrived. If one no had…" He trailed off searching for the appropriate and most un-upsetting words.

"It was just enough to determine between life and death, Mr. Stabler. I'm a lapsed Catholic myself, but I would definitely say you'd had an angel with you." Miguel added using Elliot's stunned silence as an escape, leaving him to contemplate his words.

_An angel…Cate Monty?_

He searched his foggy memories, _She stayed with me. Even came back for me while I was drowning. _

Elliot was so confused.

The door to the room opened again revealing Cragen and Olivia.

Both looking exhausted and lined with worry.

"Hey," Olivia purred moving timidly to his side, unsure of whether or not to even approach him.

"…Is for horses." He replied reaching out of her hand, giving the permission for touch, not caring that Cragen was in the room, he knew what it meant.

"Hebel's dead isn't he?" Elliot said jumping directly to business.

Olivia nodded, "Strangled."

"And Cate got away." Elliot inferred narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah. Elliot, how much do you remember?" Cragen stepped in dragging a nearby chair from across the room.

"Enough," he started, "I chased her all the way to the piers. It was pitch-black, save for the lighting. We fought over my gun and I discharged a shot." His eyes glazed and his grip with Olivia loosened.

She took it as a sign to have her own seat.

"I've never seen anyone move that fast. She has some kind of martial art under her belt. It's more extensive then just basic Army training too. I managed to cuff her and was about to call for back up when…" He trailed off and felt his temple whisper the ache but didn't reach to touch the purple hued bump.

"Next the thing I know I'm on the ground with at face full of grit. She took off toward the piers and I went after her again. She ran onto the first pier, slid on the slick wood, and fell through. Still cuffed." He paused taking in a soft breath.

He eyed his peer's reactions so far, Olivia seemed placid and Cragen absorbent, yet Elliot sensed that they knew something he didn't.

"I took off my jacket and shoes. Wrapped my gun, radio and cell up and headed out cautiously on the pier. My leg fell through first, then the pier folded around me and I fell into the darkness." Elliot unwilling recalled the terrible feeling of being enveloped in the clutches of the cold river.

He had never felt so useless.

His peers kept their emotions in check; it didn't go unnoticed by Elliot.

"I don't know how long I was down there, pinned to the river bottom by the planks before Monty appeared without the cuffs and started helping me lift the planks…I drowned. Everything went black, next thing I know I'm choking and vomiting on the bank. And Monty is there sitting next to me in rain, holding my shoulders while my blowing chunks." He cast a look out the only window in the room.

"I leaned back and someone started shooting at us…I was hit…it gets pretty fuzzy after that." He concluded looking back at them.

Cragen nodded, "We have several eye-witnesses saying Monty stayed with you keeping pressure on the wound, then escaped last second into the river. She had been shot too. We found someone else's blood on distant brick wall. And according to your account of events Monty must have unloaded your gun into the guy."

Elliot looked taken aback, "Confirmed id on the shooter?"

"No, he escaped, but we know it's male. There's not trace of him in any American system and Interpol drew a blank too." Coincided Olivia.

"How did Monty get in the building?" Elliot questioned, it had been nagging at him for sometime.

Cragen sighed, "Front door."

"The lobby?"

"Yep, disguised as one of our own. Upon closer inspection, the techs noticed she was wearing what they thought was thick make-up. Then CSU found evidenced of your first struggle and foam latex was rubbed into the brick wall, hers." Cragen replied.

"Did she kill someone for the uniform?"

"If she did we haven't found the body, but an officer in the twenty-third precinct reported one of her uniforms and radio's missing. Strong coincidence if you ask me." Answered Cragen.

"I hope so and the officers on duty?"

"Baker and Forge have been severally reprimanded for _publicly fraternizing_—"

"Those heathen fornicators."

Cragen and Olivia both spilt into smiles, "Yeah, as for Denton and Cerro, their under investigation for leaving Hebel. It's an Internal Affairs case now." Cragen finished.

"Has she gone after anyone else yet?" Elliot asked with throaty depression.

"No, there's speculation that she dead. No one knows how many times she was shot and even if she made it out of the river. Personally, I won't believe that until I see her on a slab." Olivia voiced.

A short silence followed, then Olivia shattered it knowing she and Cragen had to get back, "The doc says you can leave in four days and everyone at the station sends their love."

"Aw, makes me feel all squishy and special on the inside." Elliot said with a soft leer, feeling a fresh release of morphine from the drip.

"Four days." Cragen assured him standing up and adjusting his jacket, "Get better soon."

Olivia smiled nicely, standing with her superior.

"I will. Thanks for coming out." Elliot said genuinely.

Cragen and Olivia slipped toward the door and then Elliot recalled the 'dinner date' they had sit-up last night.

"Say, Olivia," Elliot called to her; the two paused at the door, "I can I talk with you a minute?"

Cragen didn't say a word, spoke only with his eyes and moved out into the hallway.

Olivia walked back to his side, eyes wide with concern and opened to anything he would want talk to her about.

With her undivided attention he spoke carefully, choosing his words with caution, "Our date was _interrupted_. What were you going to tell me?"

She hesitated and dropped her head some with, _What is that? Embarrassment?_

"Elliot, this really isn't the place—"

"Olivia, just tell me. Nothing volatile is happening right now and no one is shooting at us or throwing darts." Elliot gently persuaded, she huffed at the mention of darts and glanced to the side some.

"I haven't told anyone in the Squad yet or Cragen…I can't believe I'm going tell you this, ugh," Olivia suddenly found it hard to look him in the eye. "You're my partner, Elliot and I trust you with my life, so I trust you to keep this to yourself."

Olivia shuttered and slurred some, twisting her fingers into knots.

He noticed her apprehensiveness and tried to decipher what on Earth could be so troubling and torrid for her, then carefully reached for her hand, grasping it with calloused fingers.

She looked down at their interlaced fingers and found the confidence to speak, "I'm pregnant."

(End Chapter Sixteen)

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	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

A/N: Shellster regrets to inform her faithful reviewers and readers that the end is near! Only a few chapters left…sorry…but it has to end. But on a happy Shellster note, today was the last day of the fall semester! Yeah! Its over! I can breathe…but more importantly I can write. **Totally sweet! **

Wolfwood11: Thanks for replying, dude. You've have some nice little theories formulated. Have you've been taking notes:) But I'm going to blow one of your theories out of the water…er…in chapter nine the sex of the hit is revealed. That's all I'm giving ya! Thanks for taking the time to tell me your hunch. I loved it, it is very much appreciated.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

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Four days later Elliot was released from St. Marks, two days after that he was permitted to return to work, with Cragen's blessing of course.

But he did cherish the personal recovery time even if it was under sour circumstances, he loved spending it with his children and Kathy.

As for Cate Monty, she was again presumed dead.

An urban legend erupted as a joke among the Boys in Blue that soon some necking teenagers or fishing twelve year olds would find her body bloated, bleached, beached and riddled with bullets. They just had to wait.

She turned silent.

Was it the end of the heinous deaths?

No one knew.

Work continued, side cases were handed out and investigated while they waited for Cate to make her next move or show up as a corpse.

Six days turned to seven, seven to ten, and still nothing happened.

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The Forty-Eighth Day

September 19, 2005 Monday

"Ten days." Andrew called over the sounds of the city as he and Nadia slathered their hotdogs with chunky condiments, "She must be dead."

"You really think so?" Nadia asked balancing the thin paper and crispy food.

Andrew merely nodded, eyeing the textured relish.

Nadia shrugged, "I wonder when it will stop raining? For real."

He looked up at the gray, threatening clouds, "Soon hopefully."

Then he felt it, that feeling were the back of your neck feels most vulnerable, that feeling that mingles with the inkling that someone is watching you.

It was enough to make him stop admiring his custom hotdog and search for the person staring at him; he ignored Nadia's continued conversation to cut his eyes across the street.

His blue eyes darted from face to face, person to person seeking anything suspicious, seeking_ her_.

"What are you looking at?" Nadia questioned pulling him back from his thoughts.

"What? Oh nothing."

_She's dead. _

_Has to be._

_Yeah she is…Right?_

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"We have DNA—"

"No."

"We know you did it."

"No I—"

"Yes you did. You raped those little girls!"

"No I didn't! I want my lawyer, now!"

Elliot held back, lowering his hackles and leashing the 'bad cop', _It's over for now._

"Fine, wait here." He muttered getting up and leaving suspected rapist Paul St. Croix alone.

Olivia met him in the hall outside the interrogation room handing him a chilled bottle of water.

"Thanks." He murmured cracking the bottle's cap and sipping carefully.

"Cragen's calling in St. Croix's lawyer." She briefed as the two walked toward their own desks.

He shrugged, "He's guilty as sin and he knows it."

"Yeah, DNA, witnesses and several victims, he's going down and he knows it." Olivia professionally agreed.

Elliot pulled his desk chair out and gingerly sat down still quietly slurping at the hydrating liquid.

They both started the slow paperwork on St. Croix; the ball was in his lawyer's court for the time being. Nothing more they could do on that case, for the time being.

The late afternoon slowly dwindled into early evening as the shifts started changing.

Cragen as usual stayed late burning the midnight oil so to speak; Nadia escaped twenty minutes earlier with John and Fin.

Andrew left ten minutes ago, whereas Elliot and Olivia just squared away the rest of St. Croix's paperwork; his arraignment was in a day, something to look forward to.

"Where are you parked today?" He asked as he powered down his laptop.

"Level two." Olivia responded unlocking her bottom desk drawer and removed her purse.

"Oh, well I'll walk you anyway." Elliot replied pulling on his jacket.

She rolled her eyes and he didn't notice, "'K."

They left the office with high sprits with the St. Croix case under wraps for the moment, bid Cragen goodnight and stood in the elevator in silence.

The need for constant conversation between the two was unnecessary, besides they were both exhausted.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" Elliot asked quietly.

"No."

"You haven't told Cragen either, have you."

"No. But I am soon."

Elliot nodded, "Don't wait too long."

She was too tired to argue and let the conversation drop by not responding again.

He glanced over at her silence and got the hint.

The elevator chimed at the passing floors, soft like clock work until they reached level two.

The fingerprint stained doors spread opened to reveal the nearly deserted parking garage and was just in time to fill the elevator with the terrible sound of glass shattering.

The partners instinctively thought the same thing; car wreck.

Olivia was the first to rush out, Elliot at her heels.

She faltered first at what she saw and nearly fell backward, thankfully Elliot caught her.

Six cars remained in the massive garage, one of them Olivia's dented Impala. They were all scattered about the parking slots.

What was unique about the level two of the garage was that it had a small gated patio area, jutting out over the city, dotted with a few small picnic tables.

It had started raining again, sopping the concrete and the plastic glazed picnic tables, running off into the multiple drains.

Parked a few slots back from the gated patio was a dated black Charger with an opened door, rocking violently with a smashed windshield.

It wasn't a car wreck, quite contraire; no it wasn't most definitely two people engaged in combat.

They didn't know who was fighting and cursing at one another so viciously, shaking the vehicle so wildly and didn't care. They were police officers and it was their duty to keep the peace.

The sound of a body being drug off the hood coalesced with the sounds of Elliot and Olivia quick paced footsteps.

Heavy echoes filled the atmosphere bouncing off the concrete structure, and then would fade out along the patio.

"Break it up!" Elliot yelled still not knowing who was fighting.

The more dominate fighter at the moment, drug the lesser one off the hood and along the floor toward the gated patio, slinging the other over the gated fence, jumping over after the other.

Violence filled the small world, combined with screams and smashing fists.

Blood sprayed and clashed against the falling rain drops.

Elliot jumped over the fence first whereas Olivia sided stepped to the gate emerging from the dry over hang to the sopping patio, soaking almost immediately.

Elliot bit his lip as he pulled the one of the fighters from his or her entanglement with the other; Olivia found her place and restrained the other.

All that happened during the next few seconds was pulling, with Elliot and Olivia trying to contain the situation.

"Let me go!" Andrew screamed slinging blood from his bleeding nose under Olivia's death grip. She nearly did out of shock; he was the last person she expected to find herself restraining.

_What's going on?_ She questioned nervously then looked toward Elliot trying to see who he was holding, she gasped when she saw who was twisted in his grasp.

Cate Monty.

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"No! Damnit, Stabler! You don't understand! Let me go!" Cate hollered and withered in Elliot's purchase.

He had no idea who he was holding up until that second and didn't expect it to be Cate Monty, the woman he presumed dead.

Elliot refused to let his clutch weaken as she flexed constantly. She was like holding a snake, a constant convulsing muscle; she wreaked havoc on his joints.

"Olivia, I'm fine. Please let me go." Andrew said calmly, when she didn't he coaxed her again, "I'm glad you two came here when you did. She attacked me." Andrew spat toward Cate who absorbed everything he said over the rain and stopped struggling against Elliot so she could focus on him.

"Lair!" Cate yelled stooping drastically. Elliot followed her bend, swaying like a sapling.

"She hid in the backseat of my car and attempted to strangle me." Apparently that was enough for Olivia to let him go. He straitened up, shifting his jacket and wiped the streaming blood away from his nose.

"No! You don't understand! He'll kill you!" Cate screamed over the rain.

"Shut-up, you stupid bitch." Andrew cursed wiping the rain out of his dirty blonde hair, shaking the stringy clumps.

"One of you help me cuff her." Elliot called as Cate became more violent, wrenching harder in his sticky yet slippery hands.

_No! I'm too close!_ Cate wailed within, at the last second she slung her head backwards connecting with Elliot's nose, one of the most sensitive parts of the human body.

The pain was too great, he let go.

Olivia witnessed at that moment what Elliot lamented to her and Cragen in the hospital. He was right, she had never seen anyone move that fast either.

Cate crouched and twisted quickly relieving Elliot of his firearm before he could stop her, shoving quick bare hands beneath his jacket, around his belt, unsnapping the holster and gaining the upper hand.

Andrew saw his only chance and grabbed Olivia before she could react; groping for his own firearm and shoving his forearm around her neck, then harshly crushed the barrel of the gun against her temple.

She gasped.

Her face filled with shock, then betrayal.

Cate removed the safety before Andrew even had his barrel to Olivia's head.

She leveled the firearm and Elliot slowly regained his ground, watching in horror as the overwhelming event unfolded before his eyes.

Nothing happened for what seemed like an eon.

Only the rain pattered around them, yet everything felt so still.

"Drop it." Andrew ordered to Cate.

"Showing your true colors, _Andrew_?" Cate countered.

"Do you want her blood on your hands too?" He demanded shoving the barrel harder against Olivia's head, she choked some.

"Tell them who you are, _Andrew_."

"Shut-up."

"What's a matter _Andrew_, the world falling apart around you?"

"I told you to drop it!"

"Tell them who you are!"

"Their cops! Their too fuckin' stupid to figure it out for themselves! It doesn't matter now!" Andrew was becoming more hostile pressing harder against Olivia's head causing her to wince, Elliot wanted to kill him.

"You bastard." Elliot whispered ignoring his throbbing nose, Andrew cut his eyes toward him then back at Cate.

"Stabler…meet the coward that shot you at the pier. Meet the coward that shot me three times! Meet the fuck who poisoned me in the hospital! Meet Jon Rice." Cate hissed passionately, twitching her head like a bird at each hostile comment.

"You? You shot me. It was you? You're the leak. You tampered with the files!" Elliot yelled in realization, Andrew stepped back pulling Olivia with him.

The evidence was most certainly stacked against him; it was too much for Elliot and Olivia not to infer.

"Yeah, I tampered with the files, but I'm not the leak. What are you going to do about it? None of you idiot fucks even knew." Jon spat at Elliot grinding the barrel into Olivia's head, she still hadn't spoken once.

Elliot took another step and Jon held Olivia tighter, "Cate, drop the gun, now." He said through gnashed teeth.

She hated doing this, she really did, but she couldn't stand the thought of Olivia being killed because of her.

Cate crouched carefully and set the gun on the wet concrete.

"Now kick it off the building." He ordered, she glanced at Elliot who nodded, slowly she harshly nudged the gun aside.

It skittered on the small flaws in the concrete then sailed off the side of the building beneath the high fence and fell fast to the busy street below.

"Stabler," Jon called, Elliot looked back at him. "Put your hands on your head and sit over there."

He did as Jon asked.

"Do the same thing." Jon directed at Cate, she followed the orders, her eyes never leaving Jon's.

Jon looked smug, but hair-triggered at the same time.

Elliot locked eyes with Olivia, wishing so badly he could speak to her; the fear in her eyes was evident, then it changed, it shifted to something he rarely saw, but knew she was capable of.

Olivia wasn't going to play hostage or human shield anymore; she went for her holstered gun.

Time slowed, as it usually does when one's watching fragile life linger between the two possibilities; continued living and unknown death.

Olivia managed to reach for her firearm, but her fingertips merely glazed the grainy hilt, before Jon smashed the butt of his gun against the side of her head and shoved her aside.

The world faded to black for Olivia Benson, dark, cold and collapsing.

She fell on the nearest picnic table, pulverizing her face against the bench and thoroughly banging and bruising her body.

Seconds later Olivia was lying on the wet concrete on her side, facing away from Jon, Elliot and Cate.

Elliot and Cate reacted in unison during the momentary distraction; neither expected Jon to recover so quickly nor anticipated the gunshot.

The force of the bullet launched Cate flat on her back causing her to veer some. The terrible feeling of having 'the wind knocked out of her' as her father would say, clinched her body.

Cate wheezed hard and saw spots for a moment, peppered on the dreary sky above her.

Then the familiar feeling of a gunshot wound registered in her mind, but the endorphins kicked in numbing the sensation of pain, but she knew it was there.

_I should be used to this by now_, she thought depressingly as heavier drops of rain pelted her face.

Elliot was spread.

He was like a deer in the headlights, totally powerless to aid his partner lying a few feet away and impotent to Cate who was inhaling wetly and convulsing from the gunshot.

The deep red mixed with the rain rolling toward the nearest drain concreted into the patio deck.

"Step back, now." Jon ordered to Elliot leveling the gun at him. A bolt of lighting streaked the sky behind him, the thunder followed.

"Why are you here, Jon?" Elliot asked wearily taking step back, his mind cluttered with soaring thoughts of his children, Kathy and Olivia and knowing that this, this moment, this time he was going to die.

_Where is my angel now? She's almost dead too._

"On your knees, slowly put your hands on your head." Jon ignored his question.

Like a good dog, like a whipped dog, Elliot did what he was told.

Soaked to the flesh now, Elliot felt the tight strain of his slacks over his knees. He had a quick vision of a memory long forgotten of when he would play catcher at his neighborhood sandlot with his friends.

Always catcher, never the pitcher.

The memory faded as he brought his hands up to his head. He fought the urge to shake with dolor and fear as Jon approached, firearm poised and ready, one round less.

"They'll find you, you know. Cragen, John or Fin or even Nadia. They will kill you for this." Elliot drummed to Jon, staring up at the menacing, dead and violent blue eyes.

"No they won't. Because none of them have any idea of what Jon Rice even looks like." He leveled the firearm pointed directly between Elliot's eyes and started to squeeze the trigger when another gunshot filled the air.

Elliot thought he had been shot for the second time that evening only to see Jon's body forced aside and the abstract burst of blood following.

_Who? _

He looked to his left seeing Cate sitting up and slumped over on her side, one hand clotting the bullet hole at her left breast the other clutching a Derringer. Thin spirals of gun smoke rushed from the cooling barrel.

"I told him I hated guns." Cate muttered with a soft small smile, it caused Elliot to return one.

"Check your partner." She added trying to stand; she didn't have to ask him twice.

Elliot moved quickly to Olivia's side, moving her lightly onto her back, touching her face softy, she didn't groan in reply, she didn't do anything.

But she was breathing, she had a pulse.

Olivia's face had already started turning a light hue of purple, pinpricks of ruby started beading to the surface, she looked so battered.

Cate had finally found her footing. She walked sorely toward Jon's bleeding body, Derringer still in hand and gushing even more from her chest.

She didn't care, she was far to close to stop now.

"Ah fuck…fuck…fuck…" Jon groused quietly, still holding the firearm. Withering against the small plug of lead lodged in his stomach, inching and eating away at the tender flesh and organs.

_I missed_, she thought depressingly. She had wanted to hit him higher like his heart, but a stomach wound would cause even more pain.

The whites of his eyes lulled about in his sockets, surging from the suffering. When he saw her approach he tried to raise his firearm only to have Cate quickly tread her foot on his wrist.

He sobbed at the pressure, "You bitch."

"What did you say to me that night, all those years ago? As I was restrained to my bed bleeding, childless, raped and sodomized. 'It's nothing personal, it's—just—business.'" Cate drilled quietly raising her Derringer toward his head, "Same here Jon, its just business."

She would have killed him, really would have, with Elliot's back turned and thoroughly distracted by his partner.

She would have, if Elliot hadn't moved when he did, knocking the Derringer from her grasp, causing it to clatter a few feet away, shoving her aside and landing on top of her.

"No!" Cate mourned under his weight.

He groped for his handcuffs, "Stop moving, Cate!"

"God—No damnit!"

Elliot forced one cuff around her while she jerked and shoved against him, pushing hard.

_He's forgotten about Jon! _ Cate thought seriously.

Forcing harder Cate was able to subdue Elliot, briefly.

One with one hand cuffed, she rattled the bracelet along the abrasive floor as her other hand reached for the discarded Derringer.

Elliot reached the gun first though just as her bloody fingertips caressed the hilt.

She sobbed futility as he gained the upper hand again.

"It's over, Cate." He voiced drawing up to his tallest height, the Derringer leveled at point blank range with Cate in his sights.

She was still sprawled on her stomach, leaning back some now. She looked up at him in almost submission, and all she could do was shake her head in remorse.

Half dead and half loyal, Jon found the sly strength to focus, to try and shoot Cate in back.

_I can still make it. I can still be free of Philips, free of the hits, free of all this shit…Free to go back to Nevada…_

Jon Rice screamed with primal acoustics, pulling together all of his strength, every last fiber of hate and survival, combining it into his last act.

Cate slung her head back toward the terrifying howl, watching the inhuman and vicious creature rolling to its side, aiming and snapping its fragile ribs in the process.

_So this is how I die. _Cate thought for a second, unsure of were the thought came from, then it was silenced by the gunshot.

(End Chapter Seventeen)

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	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

Disclaimer Two: I do not own any concepts or characters from the D.C comic book universe. Nor do I own the character Lex Luthor. He belongs to the original creators, company and present owners.

Wolfwood11: Well, I was never going to really add that to this story, but since you asked no. Vince Connors isn't involved with Lengsfield. Vince is really naive about the whole thing, he's convinced that he is really in control of the city, but he's not. Lengsfield is…I may elaborate more on that in future stuff…thanks for the review!

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Had the Derringer been a stronger caliber Jon Rice's head would have exploded.

But it wasn't.

Instead his forehead stippled with powdered burns that ringed around the hole lodged above were his right eyebrow used to be, singing his eye, turning it a gross gray and disintegrating the hair on the right side of his face.

Matted chunks of brain matter, bone fibers and blood burst from the back of his head, taking hair and scalp with the small plug of lead.

Jon Rice, the man who paraded as Andrew Gage Special Victims Detective for nearly two months died.

His body made a sick thud on the concrete, causing his skull to fracture again at the bullet hole, sounding like a watermelon being cracked.

Cate Monty wearily looked back at Elliot Stabler, her Derringer still firm in his hand, and now two rounds less.

"Thank you." She whispered, then begged, "Please let me go, Elliot."

He tilted his head some, "I can't do that, Cate. Its over, you know that."

She shook her head some and closed her eyes, "I have one more, Elliot. Only one more life to take," she slowly re-clotted her wound with a cold, wet fist.

"Just one more. Let me go and I will kill him tonight and I swear to you that I will return in the morning. Then you can do whatever you want with me. Imprison me, toss me in an asylum or give me the needle. I don't care! Please! I'm so close for—my—my children and for me to be avenged!"

Elliot looked down at her in pity, still holding the Derringer.

"Look at me with your eyes as a parent." She demanded, "Try and feel my agony. You know its true, all of it. He confirms it!" Cate gestured her head at Jon Rice's corpse.

"Tell me that you couldn't live without killing the bastards who could have killed your children! Think about it! What if it was you? Please, just let me finish it." She pleaded.

Elliot briefly felt his heart sway. For a moment, but for only a moment he thought about her words, 'Let me go and I will return.' He found himself thinking about it, Cate saw his eyes shift too; he looked at her with hypothetical similarity.

But his eyes quickly shifted back to their original state, New York City Cop.

He shook his head, drops of water running off the end of the barrel, "I can't, Cate. I won't."

She nodded feeling the rush of tears burn her eyes, "I know….but for a brief moment…you saw yourself in me. You considered and looked at me as a parent. You did something no one else ever has. You stopped judging me and I thank you for that." Heavy sobs followed as he helped her up and forced her to walk under the over hang to the dry parking lot and cuffed her to the gated fence.

He left one of her hands free so she could the clot the hole in her chest, she wasn't going anywhere he knew that.

Next he carefully carried Olivia to the dry parking lot, then called for back-up.

Soon the parking garage was filled with flashing lights, well armed officers and paramedics.

Cate was un-cuffed bashed in the face and forced on the floor of the parking lot, they grinded her face into an oil stain.

Elliot's protests didn't hold water as she was re-handcuffed and started to bleed allover the floor. She soon lost consciousness and was shoved in the back of an ambulance.

Elliot ignored Cragen's demands for an explanation and crawled in the back of the ambulance carrying Olivia.

_I'll explain later, _he thought as he looked down at Olivia's soaked and bruised body; as an oxygen mask was forced over her mouth and nose.

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It wasn't hard explaining to Cragen what happened out on the patio, wasn't as difficult as Elliot anticipated.

After Olivia was stabilized in a recovery room and Elliot was cleaned up and dried off he sat in a private conference room with his Captain, retelling what he had witness while sipping at warm coffee.

He omitted the obvious; that short conversation he had with Cate. It was slowly setting in that he did consider letting her go, that was something he wanted to keep to himself too.

Cragen took everything in stride, not saying a word until his subordinate was finished, but his eyes gave him away at every turn.

Especially at the odd circumstances of Andrew Gage, someone Cragen had hand picked over shinning rookie detectives like; Edward Gardner, Terri Rourke, or Denise Jones just to name few.

It seriously caused him to rethink his sifting process.

"Did you have any idea?" Cragen asked after he was done.

"About Ga—I mean Rice?"

He nodded.

"I've always felt something odd about him, something I couldn't quite pinpoint. Do you remember what Nathan Thorne said?" Elliot replied taking another sip, Cragen nodded recalling the child's chilling words; "_I don't like him, he's like Lex Luthor_."

"I wonder how Sands will take it." Elliot grumbled.

"I'm more concerned about the press and Chief of Detectives. She'll have a cat no doubt." Cragen mourned.

Soon John, Fin and Nadia arrived, after being quickly briefed; Nadia extracted herself from the group and sat a few chairs away.

Consumed in total shock about her now deceased and ex-partner, _No…No way…Why didn't I see it before? Or notice? Fuck! They must all think I'm totally incompetent._

She knew Internal Affairs would be grilling her for days over this, and the inking that she would be stripped of rank wormed itself in her mind.

_I can't go back to thievery_, she moped.

Cragen ordered a CSU team and several Detectives to swarm Andrew Gage's last known address. There they found a .thirty-eight. Ballistics would later match that gun to the same one that shot Elliot at East River Pier sixteen.

M.E. Marquette Virgo who would perform Andrew Gage/Jon Rice's autopsy would also find that he had a recent gunshot wound in his left leg; she guessed a .three fifty-seven.

Same caliber Elliot carried, but it was all still speculation.

His gun would also be recovered in a few hours; it was fate that the dropping Glock didn't smash into anyone's head or car below when Cate kicked it off the side of the building.

It sailed unnoticed to the street and skittered into a street drain. Rorsarian would clean it up good as new though. What a blessing that it didn't discharge or hurt anyone.

Later Andrew Gage/Jon Rice's body would not be claimed by anyone and would be buried without any mourners in one of the state's potter fields.

Olivia woke-up a few hours later, groggy with the beginning symptoms of a cold.

After she was informed by her doctor about the bruising to her face and the mild concussion, she quickly inquired about the health of her baby.

The doctor reassured her that the fetus was fine.

_Too close. Way to close_, she lamented.

Next she requested to see her Captain and immediately told him she was pregnant.

He was shocked to say the least, then smiled and told her congratulations. He asked her not to worry, that everything would be taken care of at the station. Basically, she still had a job.

A few seconds later he informed her of Jon Rice's passing and that Elliot was fine and Cate was in surgery.

Through it all Cragen was thankful that it was over, well, most of it.

Several hours later, Olivia was released and driven home by Elliot, who insisted, he saw her up to her apartment and into bed. He was relieved when she mentioned that she had told Cragen she was pregnant.

That gag he had been wearing had finally been lifted. Then it was replaced when she added that no one else in the Squad was to know, yet.

_Damn it_, he thought.

Meanwhile at the station Cragen received a phone call. It was now 8:06 a.m. the next day; it came from Cate's surgeon Ezekiel Gaines.

He informed Cragen that Cate lived though the surgery, but needed several blood transfusions; thankfully she had the most common blood type.

He repaired not only one gunshot, but cleansed three others on her body, all still relatively new.

"Self-stitched and cauterized?" Cragen asked.

"_Yes, fine work too. Is she a doctor?" _Ezekiel questioned.

"Sort of."

Cragen had four guards posted outside her recovery room; he refused to have a repeated escape.

She also remained anemic; Ezekiel found it a wonder that she was still alive. Someone told him years ago that people don't just die; they die because they lose the will to live.

Cate Monty refused to give up that will, it was the only thing Ezekiel could determined that kept her alive.

Within in hours of Olivia's release and Cate's recovery, word of the now almost fabled gun battle at the precinct's garage reached the public.

The spying cop, the vigilante and two of the cities finest locked into a fierce battle, with a fairy tale ending, good prevailed over evil.

Just as Cragen predicted Chief of Detectives Caitlin O'Connell chewed him out at first light.

Demanding to know how a fake cop managed to gain entry to the Squad.

Cragen couldn't explain that, Andrew Gage had a past, had credentials and spotless record, one fish that managed to escape thorough the net was one way to put it.

Next the witch-hunt began, Nadia was the first to be crucified by Internal Affairs, prodded and interviewed again and again.

Cragen's good word was the only thing kept her in the Squad.

The others would soon interviewed relentlessly by Internal Affairs.

Six days of punishment.

Coincidently six days later, Cate was also released into police custody, locked in a magnetized cell at Cragen's precinct.

Guarded heavily, she never tried to escape and merely waited for her trial to begin.

She wasn't interrogated this time; there was no need for it.

Vahik Aboolian did return to Cate, disappointed that she had escaped, but excited at all new press and multiplied protestors on Cate's side.

She waited eight days in her cell for her arraignment to arrive; she didn't really pay attention to what was happening in the courtroom that day, everything seemed surreal.

The Squad was cleared of any 'wrong-doing' or 'mislead intentions' four days after her arraignment by Internal Affairs.

Now they would have to wait for the trial to begin too.

Slowly new cases filtered in and were handled accordingly by the detectives, Nadia still flying solo at the moment, which was fine with her, she still felt burned and betrayed.

Cate remained silent in her cell, didn't scream or yell, or ask for anything, but kept up with her medication and exercised everyday and was watched like a hawk.

She didn't have a plan of escape right now, not with uniforms everywhere, so she made the decision to ride it out.

Just as Vahik Aboolian requested the first time she was imprisoned, he warranted another psychiatric evaluation.

Cate went through five grueling days of extensive interviews, not hiding anything being bold and truthful.

Three days later the highly publicized trial began.

One good omen that adorned before the trial was that it stopped raining; the morning after Cragen received the phone call that Cate survived though the night, the rain had stopped.

Almost immediately.

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The Sixty-Ninth Day

October 10, 2005 Monday

Cate pinned her hair up herself with the soft colored tortoise shell clip and applied the make-up, concealer, lip liner, eye shadow and water-proof mascara herself.

Smoothed the long, dark charcoal colored skirt that nearly reached her ankles, effectually concealing the terrible burn scars on her legs and slipped into the darker charcoal dress shoes.

Straiten the gray button blouse, staring into the full-length plastic mirror recently bolted to her cell wall.

She huffed at her appearance, and shrugged pulling on the charcoal jacket.

Vahik's assistant, Andrea Foxx had taken her measurements a day earlier and picked out six different outfits for the long trial ahead, along with the basics of make-up and hair ornaments. Vahik's firm footing the bill.

Something refreshing compared to the drab, yet blinding orange jumpsuit.

"Monty, come on lets go." The sound of the rattling Billy club along the outside of her cells' bars, pulled her back to reality, it shifted the sliding curtain also recently bolted in place in to the top of the cell, placed for privacy.

She took one last lingering look at the mirror, focusing on her burn tissue then pulled the curtains aside.

"'Ou look nice." Uniform Joseph Perrine compliment slipping his Billy club back in its loop.

"Thanks." She murmured.

"You know the routine." He added reaching for his cuffs; Cate stepped forward and maneuvered both wrists through the slot in the cell door.

He cuffed in the front, "Too tight?"

"No, its fine." She answered pulled her shackled hands back in the cell.

"Percy, number three." Uniform Delia Simpson called down the corridor, the barred door slid open and Joseph gestured for her to step out.

She did as she was asked, flanked by four uniforms as they walked down the corridor.

Her heels clicking synchronously with that of the four uniforms.

The journey to the unmarked was uneventful, same with the ride to the courthouse, but when the caravan of vehicles hit a high raise in the road she couldn't help but gawk at what she saw crowded around the city's courthouse.

Protesters.

There must have been over two-hundred, maybe more, brandishing signs like talismans, screaming and shouting, marching and convulsing.

People demonstrating freedom of speech from both sides of the spectrum, some for the release of Cate Monty the hero and others for execution of Cate Monty the killer.

Apparently Riot Teams had been deployed to keep what little peace was left.

"Shit." Cate whispered watching through the front windshield.

"All of this you." Joseph observed from his seat next to her in the back of the unmarked.

"It was never supposed to be like this." She said to no one in particular.

"What was it supposed to be like?" Delia questioned with slight scorn on the opposite side of Cate.

"Silent."

The caravan pulled to the side curb, Joseph got out first as other officers came to his side.

Each securing the area then Joseph motioned for Cate to follow, when she set foot on the curb more screams erupted from the protesters, most on the verge of foaming at the mouth.

The officers circled her as she was escorted up the massive stairs.

Dozens of derogatory comments, racial slurs, sexist shouts, combined with various cries of positive praise and religious squalls of being a God Sent filled her ears.

Cate ignored them, refusing to look any of them in the eye.

She didn't expect what happened next, but didn't mean she didn't feel it.

A raw egg smashed against her face, exploding in her unprotected eye. Cate gasped and veered to the side trying to wipe the sharp bits of shell and yoke from her eye with her cuffed hands.

Uproar of laughter filled the air; it reminded her of history class in High School when she learned about heathens, heretics, the mentally ill and deformed, murderers and rapists and unwed mothers being lead to execution blocks and fixed trials.

Stones, dead animals, shit and mud, rotten fruits and vegetables, along with eggs would be thrown and smeared in their faces.

_I thought we had grown beyond this_, Cate thought tearing at her eye while Joseph practically dragged her within building before matters could get worse, _Human nature I suppose. And the people of New York have become the Roman Mob._

Once inside she was herded to the nearest ladies room with Delia and another female uniform.

"Let me see your face." Delia ordered taking Cate by the shoulders as she hunched over some, her brown hair, still bleached near the tips had fluffed and tousled out of her clip.

Cate looked up her vision still blurry and smelling now.

"Improvement, if you ask me." The other uniform commented crossing her arms, smirking and leaning against the closed door.

Delia cut her eyes some, "Well, I didn't ask you did I."

The uniform smacked her tongue against her teeth in annoyance, "She's just a psycho, scar-face. Big fucking deal."

Delia ignored her this time, but Cate leered over her shoulder making disturbing eye contact with the uniform; she seemed to respond to that, nervously.

A second later Delia was keying Cate's cuffs.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" The other uniform demanded stepping forward; her hand went instantly to her firearm's hilt.

"Un-cuffing her." Delia replied removing the bracelets, Cate looked at her in confusion.

"Why?" The other uniform hissed coming to Delia's side.

"Wash your face and fix you hair." Delia ordered taking a step back; Cate looked tensely like wild animal just being released from its cage into the wild, unsure if it's a trick.

Timidly Cate moved over to the nearest sink, turned it on and cupped her hands beneath the clear stream and brought it to her face several times, un-sticking the dried yolk, the white and shell and ruining most of the concealer.

_So much for that_, she thought depressingly unclipping her hair and trying to rework it the best she could without a brush.

_Doesn't matter_, she started at the results in the mirror, _No one cares_.

Tousled and smeared she was cuffed again and escorted to the courtroom, where the antics, disorder and blame would begin.

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"All rise for the honorable Judge Jordan Bailey." The tall bailiff boomed as the almost over crowed courtroom occupants stood in unison, as the middle aged judge entered from her chambers, confident and territorial of her courtroom.

After she seated herself she voiced for all to follow.

The formalities started and Cate felt herself stray, as her eyes lingered over to the jury.

Twelve everyday average people of the city, chosen and sifted though, poured though crucible after crucible, tested again and again, summoned then discarded until twelve unbiased stones where left in the sifted sand.

_How many were called upon before these twelve where finally chosen? _

The jury consisted of five men and seven women.

Cate hated observing race and stereotypical claims but in this event she did. She noted the four Caucasians, three African-Americans, two Asians and three Hispanics.

People claim in trials and in society race isn't a factor, but it is. We have overcome, but that inkling remains in the back of some minds, when some wonder 'what if'.

What if he or she that is not of the same color as I, holds that against me?

Cate pushed the thoughts away already knowing the outcome of her second trial and it was only the first five minutes, they would find her guilty. But where she would begin her sentence was a mystery, insane asylum or maximum security penitentiary?

She looked back and focused on Judge Bailey listening to a summary of her actions and crimes against the city.

The courtroom was packed.

Cate recalled walking in and noting several faces she recognized; Olivia Benson, Elliot Stabler, both looking healthy and recovered, although Olivia still had bruising on her face.

Then there was John Munch who looked somber as usual behind his colored glasses, next to him Odafin 'Fin' Tutuola dressed nicely and looking stern, a seat down from him sat Nadia Sands who looked drawn and stressed.

Preceding her was Captain Donald Cragen who looked placid and neutral.

Then there where the others peppered about, Connors's family, and several hidden operatives of Lengsfield Philips, she knew they where there. Cate tried to maintain her composure.

Cate didn't say anything as Vahik and Casey Novak fired against each other in the courtroom; this went on for days, each lawyer fighting to gain the favor of the jury.

Casey was after life imprisonment without parole, Vahik after an institutionalized sentence.

Then the psychologists where called in, including George Huang. They all stated various things, 'Cate Monty is not insane, she knew what she was doing. And knows it was wrong, she's more vigilante then anything.'

Others announced that Cate Monty was insane and belonged in an institution.

Conflicting evidence bombarded the jury.

Later the Squad was called in on the witness stand, all lamenting what had happen over the last few months.

Days passed and the arguments continued and soon all the evidence had been seen and heard by the jury, along with witnesses, except for one, Cate Monty herself.

She dreaded the next day.

Fifteen days of listening to lawyers, professionals, officers and witnesses taking the stand while she stayed quiet.

Now it would be her turn.

Nathan Thorne had taken the stand, as had Petra Ramirez. Cate hated watching the two, but was relieved that they both looked so healthy and recovered.

_How much sway did they have on the jury?_, she wondered.

Then Sheriff Oscar Davis had appeared with others from Waterville, Wyoming, demanding justice for Jasper Davis, Peter Davis and Jeremiah Winslow. The three men she murdered with a shotgun.

_Doesn't matter_, she thought, _I'm going to prison for multiple murders, all I can do tomorrow is tell the truth. All of it._

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The Eighty-Fourth Day

October 25, 2005 Tuesday

She couldn't eat that morning, far too nervous, dressed in another outfit and made the usual trek to the courthouse.

The protestors had dwindled some, over the last few days, not by much though, today was no different, except she wasn't pelted with anything.

Soon she found herself in the packed courtroom on the high witness stand swearing on a Bible with cuffed hands.

Vahik requested in his slick suit for her to tell her story to the jury.

Timidly she rubbed her cuffed hands together then started the disturbing tale beginning the night she and her children where attacked and ending with the gun battle in the police station parking garage.

Left nothing unsaid or censored, she wept during bits of the tale palming and wading up the tissues in her chained hands. She finished quietly and was asked a few questions by Vahik and Casey.

Next each lawyer gave their closing argument and then Judge Bailey adjourned the court.

Jury deliberation had started.

Cate was quickly returned to her cell and deposited herself on the hanging bed, wound up in sadness and anger.

She wondered how long deliberation would take. She recalled the jury's faces as she retold her story; had she seen any sway on their minds?

She wasn't sure.

Cate shyly unbuttoned her top and found her thoughts ranging over the last few days, then months. Seeing all the faces of the people she murdered seared into her mind, _Was it worth it?_

She knew it was and she wasn't done. She would never have peace until Lengsfield Philips's blood was on her hands.

_I'm justified_ _in what I've done, I know it_.

Cate interlaced her fingers and tapped her foot against the paint coated concrete and found herself thinking about Jon Rice. He had been so hard to find, then she saw a wisp of his face the night he tried to kill her at the piers with Elliot.

A few days after she recuperated some from her gunshot wounds she set out to find him, starting her own investigation and research.

One thing she couldn't understand was why he was apart of a police squad.

What was Lengsfield Philips playing at?

Why did he have an implant in the Special Victims Unit?

He wasn't there for her sake that's for sure; he was there way before she started her path of revenge.

In a fit epiphany she slung her body against the bars of her cell, "Guard!"

She screamed again when no answered her, "Guard!"

Percy appeared a few minutes later, cursing.

Delia and Joseph had yet to come on shift, "What?" He demanded looking taken aback; Cate had never screamed for anything or caused any problems during her temporary incarceration.

"I want to speak with Elliot Stabler, now." She answered.

"I'll see what I can do." It was out of thanks for her being a well-behaved prisoner as he said those words, otherwise he wouldn't have done anything.

(End Chapter Eighteen)

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	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.

A/N: Special thanks too: Wolfwood11, acsbabyangelgirl, nebulagirl, shakeahand55, SVU Lover4ever, OrionandSilver, KittyDoggyLover, stabler99, kiki, Point Of Impact, TVCowgurl, VampirePrincess86, Vertigomac, and MeWannabe. Essentiality, everyone who took the time to review. Thank you all for your support and reviews. It really pushed me through.

It's been fun…

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Andrea Foxx was an angel.

Cate felt blessed that she had also left her a worn, ruddy pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt.

She could hardly stand the orange jumpsuit, and was thankful to wear clothing—normal clothing—while she was given her anemia medication, the iron laced foods and while she patiently waited for Elliot

Hoping he would listen to her words and pay heed to her warning.

It must have been five hours before Elliot appeared outside her cell as she thumbed away at a worn paperback.

"You wanted to see me." Elliot muttered rapping his knuckles against the unforgiving bars.

Cate jerked her head up ripping the paperback, "Yeah, you can come in you know." She dropped the paperback on the bed and moved over to the bars.

"What do you want, Cate?" He ignored her offer.

Cate glanced over his shoulder to Joseph and Delia, "Could you two give us some privacy."

"Detective?" Joseph stood a little straighter and spoke a little stronger as he spoke to Elliot's back.

Elliot peered hard into Cate's eyes, "Yeah, go ahead."

Seconds later they were both alone and separated by the bars, "I'm going to prison," she started.

He sneered some, "Yeah, I know." _Just figuring that out now?_

Cate leaned in a few more inches and brought her voice to an almost whisper, "I called you here to warn you."

He nodded crossing his arms; they hadn't spoken at all since that night out on the patio, when she begged him for release.

It still bothered him that he had indeed considered it.

"You had no idea about Jon Rice, did you? Not even a inkling?" Cate questioned, her eyes partially caught in shadow.

He paused and glanced at his shoes, "I never fully trusted him."

Cate smiled, "Good, hang on to that gut feeling. You need to understand, Elliot, Jon Rice was a hitman and Lengsfield Philips doesn't make mistakes. He had him here for a reason."

Elliot absorbed her words, slowly sifting them, wearily.

"He wants someone in your Squad dead. I don't know who, if I did I would tell you, but I don't. One of you is marked. Then after he takes the mark out, he'll go after the mark's family." Cate continued.

He glanced aside; it was like listening to a ghost story, but he listened no less. He did it out of thanks, she had saved his life more then once now, she knew what she was talking about.

"I'm not kidding, Elliot. You need to watch who ever replaces him, because he will try again. And he will keep trying until he gets what he wants." She warned.

She could tell he wasn't taking her words completely to heart, "It could be you, Elliot. Then he'll kill your family. Or it could be Olivia. It could be anyone. Please, watch yourselves."

"Why do you care?" Elliot asked finally.

She huffed and looked away for a moment, "You know why I care. Just please, be careful."

Cate stepped back from the bars and bellowed, "Guards, he's done with me."

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The Ninetieth Day

October 31, 2005 Monday

Seven days.

The jury took seven days to deliberate.

Cate had gotten a small note from Vahik telling her about it. He appeared positive in the note, convinced that she would be placed in Soam Threnody's Insane Asylum.

Cate knew better.

It was fine with her, _Go ahead imprison me. I'll come back._

She was to determined not to just give up and die in prison; she'd tunnel out if she had to.

Lengsfield Philips had to die.

That was the bottom line; she wouldn't give up until he was dead.

Once again, for the last time she dressed in the nice dress shirt and skirt.

Gingerly cleaned up her cell knowing she wouldn't be back. Applied her make-up, tied up her hair with a pin and flap, smoothed her clothing and stepped back to look at her appearance in the mirror.

Smiling lopsided at her image she turned to the door of the cell and shoved her hands in the slot, "I'm ready to go."

Delia cuffed her hands this time, then as so many days before she was escorted out to the unmarked, driven to the courthouse, which had more press and protestors then ever before.

Soon she was surrounded by officers and taking careful steps to the courthouse.

A unique protestor caught her eye, he was wearing a black suit and skull mask holding a noose, screaming at her, "Gonna hang your ass, you cunt!"

Cate looked away from the swing rope and allowed Delia to herd her away, guiding her into the courtroom.

After the chaos settled she found herself settled next Vahik who grabbed her hand giving her a gentle squeeze and soft smile.

Cate returned it but knew it was nothing but an appearance, just keeping up appearances.

"The jury has reached a verdict." It wasn't a question as Judge Bailey called to the jury foreman, he stood.

"We have, your honor." He replied holding the folded paper that would determine Cate's end.

"Give it to me," she stretched her arm and the bailiff moved over to the jury foreman taking the paper and giving it to Bailey.

She opened it and nodded to the jury foreman.

"We the jury finds the defendant Cate Monty guilty for multiple murders committed in the city of New York and Waterville, Wyoming and condemn her to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole."

The courtroom exploded in sound, but Cate couldn't hear it.

Her soul and face fell as Vahik embraced her and started talking to her soothingly.

Then she felt the bailiff and several officers pull her away, all sound faded from her ears as they pulled her toward another exit in the courtroom.

Somewhere in the distance and between the blur of her eyes she saw Elliot and Olivia, watching her being pulled away to start her sentence.

Watch yourselves, she mouthed to them.

Watch for him…

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"Yeah! Let us drink!" Casey roared with a slight drunken slur popping open another bottle of champagne.

The cork propelled from the neck and knocked a lamp over in the squad room, causing it to shatter on the floor.

"I'm going to pay for that!" Casey laughed as she refilled flutes for Nadia and John, then Cragen and Fin.

"Yes you will." Cragen replied almost chugging the flute, thankful that it was over, all of it was over.

Cate was in Blair's Maximum Security Prison for women in New Jersey and she had been there for nearly two hours now.

He could relax, even if it was for only a brief time.

As for Olivia and Elliot, they watched quietly a few feet away from the drunken bunch. Olivia sipped from a glass of water, Elliot had finished his flute.

"It's over…are you going to tell them?" He asked hiding his mouth behind his flute.

Olivia didn't reply at first as she watched her counterparts slowly reach inebriation, "Now's as good as time as any, I guess. Hey, can I have your attention please!"

Casey stopped giggling and looked up as the others did.

"I have announcement to make," she didn't mean to build up the excitement but she did, a smile tugged at her cheeks, "I'm a…I'm a little over thirteen weeks pregnant."

She tossed in another smile and was greeted by silence and shock.

"I knew it!" Nadia screamed accidentally crushing her flute and shattering the quiet.

Congratulations were spurted throughout the squad room and Casey was the first to hug Olivia.

Life and continued for the squad, new cases were taken in and Nadia started her suspension for her illegal meeting with Cate Monty.

Olivia started to show more and Cragen started the slow process of picking Nadia's new partner, more cautious this time.

Elliot later told Olivia about Cate's parting words; she shuttered in response on one their last stake-outs, one of the few they had left before she would be placed on desk duty.

They were in agreement to keep their eyes peeled, just in case.

Time resumed and the Squad found its place again, no longer caught up in the turbulent tide of Cate Monty's wake, they could take ease and breathe.

For the time being of course.

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Cate Monty was in her second week of her life sentence at the Blair Maximum Security Prison, already she had trouble.

She had been to the medical ward three times since she first arrived; each visit was due to a shank.

At the same time she was slowly becoming a feral animal.

She had made enemies too.

Then there were those that were terrified of her. There where rumors that she not only cut up a woman with a chainsaw, but also ate some of her.

Cate wasn't going to stop those rumors either, _Let them think I'm insane if it keeps them away from me._

But some wanted a piece of her, like one woman in particular, Blanch Howe.

Blanch was a burly looking woman, with more testosterone than estrogen in her body.

Towering and butch complete, with a uni-brow and she did not like Cate at all.

She didn't like the fact that there was someone in Blair who was wickeder and more popular than her.

As for Cate, she could care less if that was the case; she was more focused on trying to escape.

They had had their fair share of fights too, each one bloodier than the one proceeding, then in the third week everything would change.

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The One Hundredth and Eveleth Day

November 20, 2005 Sunday

The shower is a dangerous place in prison, you're very vulnerable. Cate knew that every time she disrobed and stepped under the cool blast.

Today had been like every other day; get up a six, dress then head down to the kitchen where she worked, setting pots to a boil and opening cans. Later she'd cleaned up, then mopped the cafeteria. Were as the rest of the day was hers, she spent some of the remainder in the library.

Although it wasn't much of a library, few books here and there and most of them she had already read.

Later she go to the gym, working on her body, keeping it toned and well managed, doing most of this alone, snapping at anyone who got to close, regardless of race or religion.

Then off to the shower, _Same thing everyday_,she scanned the agenda in her mind as she rubbed her lengthening hair.

_But why does today feel different? _

She scrubbed at her arms and back with the sliver of soap, slowly the shower room dissipated and she found herself alone.

A chill creped up her back and she glanced at the female guard posted at the doorway, then back to the sterile tile cleansing her hair and closing her eyes.

The sound of the shower door being slammed caused her to glance at the blurry corner, only to see Blanch shove her fist into her eye.

Cate went down hard and fast slipping on the slick tile, pounding her head on the hard floor.

"Hello lover." Blanch purred as she stood fully dressed over Cate's hard body and raising her shoe about to crush Cate's throat.

She reacted quickly, grabbing Blanch's foot and ankle twisting it hard and snapping the bones.

Blanch screamed reaching for something to balance on at the wall and found nothing, gravity took hold and jerked her body onto the tile too.

Before Cate could sneer and attack Blanch's body a gunshot echoed in the shower room, Blanch's head exploded, spraying on Cate and the walls adjoining.

"I never liked that bull-dike."

"Yeah, me neither."

Cate turned to see the prison guards; Sarah Austin and Terry Burch.

Terry wielding the handgun and Sarah crossing her arms.

"Have to make it look real now," Terry muttered handing Sarah the gun who quickly pistol-whipped him and handed the gun back to him. He hissed and spat a ray of blood and spit on the shower floor and held his busted lips.

Cate laid on the gross shower floor in shock, water still pattering her body and washing away Blanch's blood.

"You know, I thought you would have killed her." Sarah commented.

Cate looked taken aback, "Are you going to kill me or what?"

Terry laughed with gargled pain from the pistol-whip, "We couldn't kill you. Not after what you've done for us. Come on, lots of people have their ass one the line for your right now."

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Cate was taken to Warden Blake Ellenberger office and dumped in one of his chairs, still fully nude, wet and stippled with Blanch's blood.

"Ms. Monty, I haven't had the pleasure." He stood reaching for her hand and shaking it over the desk, she had no idea what was going on.

"What the fuck is going on! If _he_ hired you to kill me, then fucking kill me!" She screamed standing after he released her hand; Sarah and Terry stepped in grabbing her by the shoulders and forced her back into the seat.

"Austin, well you grab my coat over there and give it to Ms. Monty; I'd hate for to catch cold in her state of undress." Sarah did as she was ordered and handed Cate the coat, who wrapped it over her naked body.

"_He_ didn't hire me, quite contraire actually. I want you to kill him." Ellenberger answered her query interlacing his hands on the desk.

"What?" She breathed.

"You're dead, Cate. Howe attacked you in the shower and shanked you. You took officer's Burch gun, pistol-whipped him and blew Howe's head off, but later died in infirmary due to your shank. But you went down swinging!" Ellenberger laughed.

"Why are you doing this?" Cate breathed.

"I took me weeks to orchestrate this, Cate."

"What?"

"This. Your release back into the world." He spread his hands; she eyed him wearily, "So you can kill Lengsfield Philips."

She started breathing hectically.

"You're all insane."

"And your not?"

"Maybe. I did cut a woman up with a chainsaw, remember."

"I'm sure she deserved it."

Ellenberger sat back some, "He killed my son and daughter and nothing was done about it. Guard Burch there," he pointed to the officer behind her, but Cate didn't move, her eyes remained locked with Ellenberger, "Bale Braddock killed his son. Guard Austin's mother was mutilated by Anita Garcia. Matter a fact, everyone apart of this _little conspiracy_ has had someone murdered or hurt by someone you killed."

He continued at her disturbed silence, "Yvonne Shoe, I mean Doctor Yvonne Shoe who will be performing your scar tissue surgery. Kim Ong kidnapped her daughter, she has since been returned. Her nurse Ann Cheek, her bother was shot by Chris Harris. Her other nurse Stephen Williams, his wife was raped by Jack Kershaw."

Cate started to weep.

"The M.E's that are going to falsify your death," he knotted his fingers. "Joanna Jones's father was murdered by Jon Rice. Her assistant for this _situation_, Alonzo Martinez, his son was paralyzed by Nick Hebel. Interesting isn't it." He concluded as Cate adverted her wet eyes and suddenly looked very shallow.

"I didn't kill them for anyone else but myself." Cate whispered.

"That's not what you said to Petra Ramirez," he tilted his head some reaching for a manila folder on his desk opening it.

"Quote, 'You're a survivor. Like me. You're strong. You will feel so angry and cold toward the ones you love, but don't push away those who love you. Embrace them, take comfort in them. Let go of your hate because it will kill you, like it has me. _I've relieved you of your scorn, of mine and of countless others_…remember you are a survivor not a victim.'" He closed the folder tossing it back on his desk.

Cate closed her eyes and sat back further in the large leather armchair.

"You said something similar to Nathan Thorne too, same with Edward Sauls. You want to look like someone who's selfish and in it for herself, but your not, Cate."

"Yes I am! What the fuck do you know! They were there, they just happened to be there! I didn't go out looking for them!" Cate burst with rage leaning forward in the chair exposing her body; both guards stepped up just in case.

"Damn it! I know how much you hate to admit it, but deep down inside you are a good person. You didn't leave them to die. You're a hero—"

"No, I'm not." Cate sobbed.

"Then you're a vigilante, like everyone says. I know when I let you go you're going to look for him, and help you ever you can along the way." He replied.

Cate shook her head and begged again, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you can do want a badge can't. You can do what I never could. You're an inspiration. You're hope to the city and its people. And I think your God Sent."

Cate felt drearily at his words and leaned back in the chair crying softy now, _I'm not a hero, I'm not God Sent…I'm nothing… _

Hard to believe someone can hate themselves so much for something they had no control over. Not matter how much Cate Monty hated her wretched life she couldn't change who she had become deep down inside. She wasn't a hero, but she was most definitely a vigilante.

No one would ever contest that fact.

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The One Hundredth and Twelfth Day

November 21, 2005 Monday

Casey was humming to her herself as she puttered down the hallway toward her office, briefcase in hand and an I-Pod plugged into her head. Clothing bright as usual and it matched her personality on the soft, snowy day.

She smiled to her counterparts; sectaries, desk clerks, legal assistants and fellow lawyers.

Locked into bliss, it was wonderful day so far. Everything was a breeze for her so far.

She hailed a cab immediately, hit all the green lights, caught the elevator on her first try and had cleared her desk of all the paperwork late last Friday. She knew she'd have very little to do this early on the morning.

"Morning, Casey." Her assistant Trisha Hopes called with her high voice.

Casey pulled one of her headphones off and answered the greeting, "Morning, any messages?"

"No, but a package did arrive for you about twenty minutes ago. Its heavy too, no return address. I think you have a stalker." Trisha giggled, Casey leered at her.

"It's probably just the files on Black and Poe I had pulled from upstate." Casey replied shutting her I-Pod off and slipping it into her jacket pocket and shuffling toward her office, still humming.

She eyed the box with curiosity while she deposited her briefcase in the nearest armchair, swept her jacket off shaking it some, then hung it on the coat rack.

The box was quite large; it took up the center of her clean desk, thoroughly gritting it up.

Overcome with puzzlement she circled the box, upon closer inspection she noticed it wasn't the files she requested, it something else.

With narrow timid-ness she reached into the top desk drawer and retrieved the blue handled scissors, split them and went to work on the packing tape.

After all the tape was removed she pulled the cardboard flaps apart and the bitter smell of musk filled her face. Her nose crinkled in result as she peered deeper into the box, perplexed again. It was several yellowed manila folders with a fresh folded letter placed on top.

Softy, she reached for the letter first, pulling it open, lovely cursive filled her eyes as she started to read silently:

'To whom it may concern…you in this case. I have been quiet for far too long. My demons have wreaked havoc on my mind over the years; seclusion couldn't help my guilty conscience either. I could never bring myself to destroy these. This hit in particular never sat well with me. So I kept them. I hope I'm not too late to set things right.'

As her eyes leafed over the last words she felt her back shiver, _I don't like this._

After setting the crisp handwritten letter down, she reached for the first folder and carefully opened it.

"Shit!"

Casey did expect to see what was tucked away in the folder as she jerked it away from her hands and backed away from the spilled black and white photos, bumping into the window behind her desk, scrunching the blinds and covering her mouth in morbid reaction.

_What the hell! What the hell is this!_

She felt scorching tears burn her eyes as the disturbing black and white photos reflected in her irises, tossed over the desk and fluttered on the floor, she couldn't look away.

Gathering up her courage she moved away from the images and reached into the box again, pulling another folder out and carefully opening it.

It was a dated medical write up, her eyes darted to the boldest words and statements;

'…these are not self-inflicted mutilations…'

'Rape is positive, multiple seminal fluids where found in and aro…'

'…forced entry…'

That was enough; gruffly she grabbed another file, a police report;

'Fingerprints where lifted from the home…'

'…DNA was found…'

'A switchblade was recovered…'

Fevered she dropped the folder and peered into the box again seeing more folders and newly revealed sealed evidence bags. All marked CATE MONTY TRIAL EVIDENCE.

"Oh my—"

Shock filled her eyes along with rage. She had read Cate's interrogation report when she mentioned certain evidence was always disappearing or being misplaced, it coincided with what Cragen said at the beginning of this turbulent fiasco. She didn't believe it though.

This was that missing evidence.

_Who sent this?_

_Where did it come from?_

_Why now? _

Stepping back she moved to her office doorway, "Trisha, get Don Cragen on the phone, now!"

It was futile act now, she didn't know that though. She thought Cate Monty was still alive.

She was a few hours too late.

Only a few hours.

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"Sands!" Cragen barked in the Squad room, Nadia jerked her head up from her laptop and nearly knocked her coffee over.

"Come in here, please." He motioned.

"Busted." John said singly as he typed away at his laptop a few feet away.

"What you do this time, Sands?" Fin interjected.

"I don't know." She rolled her eyes at the two as she walked toward her Captain's office.

She entered tentatively noticing someone else sitting in front of Cragen's desk that stood as she entered.

"Detective Sands, this is Detective Denise Jones, your new partner." Cragen introduced taking a seat behind his desk; it had taken him a little under a month to pick her new partner.

He knew Nadia didn't mind, she had been burned pretty badly by Andrew Gage/Jon Rice, and flying solo ever since. Taking things easy and working on cases with Olivia and Elliot, then John and Fin. But Cragen was tired of her being the third wheel so to speak, he still had Elliot's temporary replacement partner to line up too when Olivia would take her maternity leave.

This time he was on edge on who he chose. He went through fifteen other officers before settling on Denise, she had been one of the original runner-ups against Andrew Gage also.

He had a good feeling this time though, the right feeling at least.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Nadia Sands." Nadia grasped Denise's hand firmly as introductions where repeated. "Come on, let's get you situated."

The two women exited the office as Cragen exhaled and seated himself breathing with relief, taking a careful drink of his coffee when his desk phone rang.

"Special Victims, Cragen," he droned into the cord phone.

"_Have you seen it?_" It was the Chief of Detectives Caitlin O'Connell.

"Seen what?"

"_Channel four._" That was it; she hung up leaving nothing but a buzz.

Perplexed he re-cradled the phone and headed out to the squad room just as Olivia and Elliot returned from the elevator and Elliot had a bloody nose, "Did you get Black?"

"She's in lock-up." Olivia replied as Elliot cupped his nose behind a stiff tissue.

Cragen nodded flipping the television on in the squad room and surfed to channel four.

"…_And for those of you just turning in, it is confirmed Cate Monty died late last night. She was attacked by another inmate and stabled in the chest. Monty did kill that inmate by shooting her. It is still unclear of how Monty came to possess a firearm at this time. She later died in the infirmary. It is confirmed Cate Monty has died…_"

The squad room turned to silence as Cragen shut the television off, dumbstruck, _I wasn't expecting_ _that_.

Elliot pulled the paper away from his nose, "That's a shame," he muttered heartlessly to no one.

_Damn shame._

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The Last Day

December 2, 2005 Friday

Catherine Ballenger, later changed to Catherine Monty died in that filthy shower room floor in Blair's Maximum Security Prison that night.

Katherine Hiller woke up wrapped up in gauze in some hospital somewhere far from Blair.

Most of the burn tissue replaced on the front of her body by skin graphs taken from her back, same with the flesh on her lower cheek and throat. It was only noticeable in sunlight, only then could you see the small stitching. But other then that Katherine Hiller didn't look much like the deceased Cate Monty any more.

Kate shrugged under the sling strap over her shoulder as a soft snow fell on New York City, the scarf wrapped around her neck fluttered on the corner of the busy street.

She had three hundred dollars in her sling, which she would pay back to Warden Blake Ellenberger as soon as she was able. New papers too; a driver's license, birth certificate, social security card, a gun license, and a pill prescription filling eight months for the anemia, all legitimate with Katherine Hiller's name and photo slapped on them.

She also had the keys to a dump storefront with an apartment loft not to far from where she stood, it would become her new home. She'd would have to fix up, Kate didn't mind, it would keep her mind off things for the time being.

Her hair had been styled again, now layered, feathered and dyed and to a Scottish red, no one would ever recognize her as Cate Monty ever again. She was sure of that.

Ellenberger dropped her off on this street corner not twenty minutes ago, and she hadn't moved much. She was just glad to be free of Blair's confines and the constricts of her old body and face.

She stood there basking in the joy that no one looked at her twice.

A new life, a new face and a name to use in her sojourn of revenge against Lengsfield Philips.

She looked up at the towering skyscrapers listening to the drumbeat of the city, allowing the snowflakes to kiss her face.

Wondering were Lengsfield Philips was, knowing she would find him and finish this, helping who ever needed aid along the way, wearily though.

Ellenberger was right and Kate knew he was, deep down she really was a vigilante. No matter how much she detested that word—vigilante—it was her label.

Her title.

Her soul.

Her mantra.

Her talisman.

Horns echoed down the street, replaced by sirens, people yelled and talked, hailed cabs and insulted each other, New York life at its norm. And they didn't look at Katherine Hiller either; they where all to wrapped up in their busy lives to notice the undead vigilante perched in their mists.

Kate smiled to herself and whispered to the sky and snow, "I'm coming for you Lengsfield Philips."

_I'm coming for you…_

(End Chapter Nineteen, Conclusion of Vigilante)

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There will be a sequel…be cool ya'll…there will be one. I've already started it.

It will probably roll around some time in January-April…somewhere in there. But I'm not making any promises of how soon I'll roll the sucker out.

Vigilante took a while to write…over a three month expanse, but I didn't write consistently everyday so it probably really boils down to a month in total…I was also working on my college stuff …plus I'm a perfectionist when I comes to my writing, (Its weird, because I'm practically a lazy punk when it comes to everything else). I can't just write and update without the story being complete…it has to be done first.

Anyway, so much has been left unsaid:

Who sent Casey the evidence?

Who is the father of Olivia's baby?

Who really is the Hit?

Is Denise a good guy?

Will Fin ever get a chapter all to himself?

All or maybe some of that will be revealed in the sequel.

Thanks, it has been fun.

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